

























































* 































T,et this sunshine , this tender bloom of field and woods, plead for me. 





BLUEGRASS AND 
WATTLE 


OR 

THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


BY 


Mary Addams Bayne 

Author of “Crestlancfs” 


ILLUSTRATED BY O. A. STEMLER 



THE STANDARD PUBLISHING COMPANY 


Cincinnati, O. 



I 


COPYRIGHT, 1909, BY 

The Standard Publishing Co., 

CINCINNATI, O. 


DEDICATION 


To my husband 

James C . Bayne 

in 

grateful recognition 
of his 

loving and unfailing 


encouragement . 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER I. PAGE 

“Under the Southern Cross” 1 

CHAPTER II. 

“Rocked in the Cradle of the Deep” 9 

CHAPTER III. 

Sightseeing in Colombo 17 

CHAPTER IV. 

A Dish of Gossip 30 

CHAPTER V. 

A Committee Meeting 39 

■ CHAPTER VI. 

His First Appearance 45 

CHAPTER VII. 

Probationary 49 

CHAPTER VIII. 

“Are You Mr. Bright?” 53 

CHAPTER IX. 

Willow Brook Farm 63 

CHAPTER X. 

A Kinsman of “The Great Pacificator”. 72 

CHAPTER XI. 

Miss Marshall Receives 79 

CHAPTER XII. 

Of a Pedagogical Nature 94 

CHAPTER XIII. 

The Ladies’ Aid 95 

CHAPTER XIV. 

The Social Vortex 405 

CHAPTER XV 

An Authority on' the Raincrow 444 

CHAPTER XVI. 

An Old Folks’ Concert ^ 420 

CHAPTER XVII. 

A Literary Symposium 435 


CHAPTER XVIII. PAGE 

‘‘Ranting ’Round in Pleasure’s Ring” 144 

CHAPTER XIX. 

Fleetfoot to the Rescue 158 

CHAPTER XX 

Love’s Young Dream 168 

CHAPTER XXI. 

The Awakening 176 

CHAPTER XXII. 

Sunday Afternoon Visitors 185 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

Friends in Adversity 195 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

The Light that Failed 202 

CHAPTER XXV. 

Epistolary 217 

CHAPTER XXVI. 

Wedding Bells 222 

CHAPTER XXVII. 

The Valley of Humiliation 230 

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

The Mount of Vision 240 

CHAPTER XXIX. 

Aunt Cassie and “De Rabbit Foot” 245 

CHAPTER XXX. 

Strictly Confidential 251 

CHAPTER XXXI. 

The Clouds Disperse 263 

CHAPTER XXXII 

“The Undimmed Hour” 270 

CHAPTER XXXIII. 

“Where Thou Goest” 278 

CHAPTER XXXIV. 

The Magnetism of the Cross 286 

CHAPTER XXXV. 

Uncle Charley Gets His Money 293 

CHAPTER XXXVI. 

Conclusion : 299 


LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 


‘Let this sunshine, this tender bloom of 

WOOD AND FIELD, PLEAD FOR ME.” CHAP- 
TER XX Frontispiece. 

‘Yes, suh, dat wuz de way ob it.” Chap- 
ter XV. Page 114 — 

‘Not so!” thundered Peter Henson. 

Chapter XXIV. Page 210 


‘I HAVE TOLD YOU THAT I LOVE YOU. Do 
YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS?” CHAPTER 

XXXII 


Page 276 


“ Each fiery test of experience that 
stirs the depths of one' s being , trans- 
forms one by scorching away superficial 
little foibles and vanities , and arousing 
into consciousness the sterner and pro- 
founder elements of character 

— Hjalmar Hjorth Boyesen. 



































EXPLANATION OF THE TITLE 


While this story was running as a serial under its sub- 
title, “The Man from Australia,” the publishers offered a 
reward of fifty dollars to the person who would submit 
the best name to be used as a title for the story when it 
should appear in book form. 

From the many names submitted by the prize competi- 
tors, “Bluegrass and Wattle,” a title sent in by Leslie W. 
Baker, a student in Transylvania University and a native 
of South Australia, was selected by the judges as the most 
attractive because of its oddity and its aptness. 

The setting of the first three chapters of the story is 
South Australia ; that of the remainder of the story is 
central Kentucky ; and, as wattle is to the people of South 
Australia what bluegrass is to the people of central Ken- 
tucky, the correlation of the two emblems, in the title, is 
singularly appropriate. 

The natural habitat of the wattle (acacia saligna) is the 
southern portion of Australia. It is a handsome, umbra- 
geous shrub or tree with long, smooth, lanceolate leaves 
and large racemes of fragrant yellow flowers. 





BLUEGRASS AND WATTLE 

OR 

The Man from Australia 


CHAPTER I. 

“under the southern cross.” 

A boy’s will is the wind’s will, 

And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts. 

— Longfellow. 

With face upturned, hands clasped beneath his head, 
and with thoughts projected far into the future, Philip 
Bryce, a dark-haired youth of twenty, lay under one of the 
majestic gum-trees that border the sloping banks of the 
Gawler River in the state of South Australia. He was a 
large-framed, well-grown specimen of young manhood, 
with clear-cut features and deep-set hazel eyes ; but his 
extreme pallor, thin cheeks, hollow temples, and the emacia- 
tion of his tall form bore evidence of recent illness. He 
was just recovering from a prolonged attack of fever; and 
on this Sunday afternoon in early February he had, for the 
first time since his illness, sought this, his favorite solitude 
under the trees. 

It was midsummer, a season often arid and of fierce 
heat in this subtropical clime ; but in this favored locality, 
near the beautiful city of Adelaide, the heat even at noon- 
day was tempered by the invigorating ocean breeze ; and at 
this kindly afternoon hour the light of the declining sum- 
mer day shone over all the land with a caressing radiance 
brilliant enough to charm, but neither glaring nor oppres- 


2 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


sive; and in this sheltered retreat under the gum-trees the 
gold of the descending sun glinted through the foliage and 
was reflected upon the stream with still softer radiance. 
There was a sense of fragrance in the air ; and the breeze 
whispering through the leaves, the rhythmic murmur of the 
river, and the subdued evening chatter of bright-plumaged 
birds mingled into a soft and magical harmony. But the 
problem of the future was bearing hard upon Philip Bryce 
that afternoon, and his thoughts were not in accord with 
his peaceful environment. 

For months before his illness a longing for change and 
adventure, natural in a degree to every boyish heart, and 
which in his case amounted to passionate craving, had made 
him dissatisfied with the peaceful life at Undulata, his 
father’s station. But now when his dreams of change and 
travel appeared likely to become realized, and when, too, 
it would have seemed natural that his former restless long- 
ings should have clamored with the more insistent force by 
reason of his long confinement to a sick-room, he felt a 
strange reluctance to leaving home. In truth, it would seem 
as though the life to which he had hitherto been accustomed 
might have afforded sufficient charm to have contented any 
one. On either side the river lay the rich lands of Undulata. 
In the deeper shade on the opposite bank herds of cattle 
were tranquilly grazing, and the pastures to right and left 
of him were dotted with sheep. Farther back from the 
river, and separated from the pastures by a wide, white 
road, there stood in an environment of trees and tropical 
shrubs the old, many-roomed and double-balconied stone 
dwelling, its walls covered with vines and climbing roses, 
its front doorway sentineled by a pair of noble eucalyptus- 
trees. At Undulata, which was an unusually large holding 
for even South Australia, where large holdings are the rule, 
there were single fields each as large as an ordinary Ameri- 


3 


" UNDER THE SOUTHERN CROSS" 

can farm, and hundreds of acres of grain were cultivated 
annually. Big droves of Here fords and Durhams and short- 
horns browsed upon the rich meadowlands, and thousands 
of sheep were gathered each year under the shearing-sheds 
of the estate. There were orchards and vineyards, and 
training-stables for the finest breeds of horses. There were 
likewise commodious tenant-houses, forges, mills, shops, 
stores, and all things necessary for the comfort and well- 
being of the large population of workers on this mammoth 
estate where the pulse of rural activity beat strongly and 
steadily, and where life was free, beautiful, and of infinite 
variety. 

Hitherto Mr. and Mrs. Bryce had tried to curb their 
son’s restless spirit, but since his illness they appeared not 
only willing, but anxious, that he should, for a time at least, 
cut adrift from his moorings and launch out upon the 
deeper waters of life. 

As he lay there in the afternoon shade he pondered over 
this changed parental attitude. “Can it be,” he thought, 
“that they fear the effects of that fever? This cough does 
trouble me at times, but I’m getting stronger every day, and 
shall soon be able to throw it off. But, whatever their 
reasons, father and mother are certainly strongly in favor 
of my leaving homeland, after all, their present views are 
in accord with what until now has been my chief ambition. 
So I’ll throw off this perverse, contradictory mood and do 
my best to carry out their wishes. 

“Shall I try mother’s idea — a long visit to Tasmania and 
New Zealand ; or father’s suggestion of a year’s travel in 
England, to be followed by a three years’ course at Oxford? 
The long sea voyage would set me up in health, the year of 
travel would be delightful, and Oxford would fulfill my 
fondest dreams of a classical education.” 

As he thus pondered and planned he thrust his fingers 


4 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


into an inner pocket of his coat, and drew forth a little 
box containing some small white tablets. He was about to 
take one of these, when a revulsion of feeling came over 
him, and with an ejaculation of disgust he flung box and 
contents far from him. “Has it come to this,” he mut- 
tered, “that I can’t plan anything, or even think connectedly, 
without resorting to that accursed stuff ? Is this why father 
and mother have all at once overcome their reluctance to 
my leaving home, and now urge a change of scene and 
travel and all that? Do they fear my becoming a morphine 
fiend? Thank God! their fears are groundless. Now that 
I no longer need the drug as I did during that terrible 
fever, I can and I will be man enough to resist the craving.” 

By this time the sunset hues had faded from the western 
skies ; but the lad still lingered until the first pale, shimmer- 
ing starlight had begun to tremble into being, and there was 
borne to him through the clear air the peal of church bells. 
He sprang to his feet, and quickly wended his way home- 
ward, where the rest of the family were awaiting his coming 
to set forth for evening service at the village of Merdin, 
half a mile from Undulata. 

The beloved old minister, William Hammond, did not 
preach that evening. The sermon, or rather the address, 
was delivered by a visiting preacher, Charles Elbridge, a 
young man of about thirty years, who had just returned 
from America, where he had recently been graduated from 
Kentucky University,* and who was now beginning his 
labors as an evangelist in South Australia. His descriptive 
powers and his eloquence were above the average, and his 
theme that evening was an inspiring one. He painted in 
glowing terms life in America, especially in what he termed 
“the garden spot of the Western Hemisphere,” the blue- 
grass region of Kentucky. He then spoke enthusiastically 

*Now Transylvania University. 


“ UNDER THE SOUTHERN CROSS ” 


5 


of the advantages, to any one intending to enter the min- 
istry, of a course of study at this university at Lexing- 
ton, Ky. 

Hammond, who had been preaching for tne church in 
Merdin for the last twenty years, was himself a native of 
Kentucky and a graduate of this university; and during his 
visits to Undulata the Bryce family had often heard him 
speak with enthusiasm, but with half-suppressed sighs of 
homesickness, of this land of his birth and young manhood. 
These recitals by the old preacher had always found an 
eager listener in the boy Philip, who felt that this far-off 
western country was almost as homelike as his native land. 
And this summer evening, swayed by the evangelist's 
eloquence, he felt again the longing to visit this magical 
Kentucky land. 

After enlarging upon the glories of America and the 
advantages to be had at this western university, Elbridge 
took up the next phase of his subject — the needs of the 
Australian churches. He spoke of the rapid growth of the 
cause in Australia during the last decade, and of the grow- 
ing necessity for more laborers who were not only gifted 
with earnestness, piety, and native ability, but who had been 
trained and equipped by an education at this western univer- 
sity, which was, he claimed, especially adapted to the train- 
ing of young men for the Christian ministry, and with which 
in this one particular no other institution of learning, how- 
ever thorough and classical, could compete. 

To Philip Bryce, as he listened, old things seemed to 
pass away, old plans and dreams and ambitions lost their 
charm, and his impulsive, impressionable boy heart was on 
fire with a longing to follow the example of this elociuent 
evangelist. 

Present in the congregation were a number of young 
men of whom many were enthusiastic “Endeavorers” and 


6 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


Christian Association workers. Elbridge made a fervid 
appeal to these young men to go to Kentucky to be trained 
in Biblical knowledge, and thus to be the better prepared 
to preach to the Australian churches. 

He requested the congregation to join in singing that 
stirring Endeavor hymn, “I Want to Be a Worker for the 
Lord/’ He then again appealed to the young men, and 
begged if there were present any who felt that they 
could then and there dedicate themselves to the ministry, 
and who were desirous of going to America for the pre- 
paratory course of study, to come forward while the hymn 
was being sung. 

The hymn was started, and quickly caught up by many 
voices, until the stone walls of the old building resounded 
with melody. Ere the completion of the first stanza David 
Jones and Tom Carey, two young men from Adelaide, who 
had driven out to Merdin that evening to attend service, 
came forward. They were classmates of Philip Bryce at 
Prince Alfred College. 

Grasping the hand of 'each of these two young men, 
Elbridge exclaimed in tones that rang out above the sing- 
ing voices : “Are there not others who will join these noble 
volunteers? Is there not in this audience one more young 
man whose talents fit him for this great work, and who will 
this night dedicate himself to the Christian ministry? Come 
now. This is the convenient season. Why doubt? Why 
hesitate? The moments are passing, and it may be that 
never again will there be an hour so favorable for you to 
enlist in Christ’s army.” 

To Philip Bryce, standing with his hands clutching the 
back of the bench in front of him, and his heart thrilled 
with emotion, it seemed that the speaker’s appeal was 
directed especially to him, and that David Jones’ and Tom 
Carey’s eyes were imploring him to come. It was no time 


“ UNDER THE SOUTHERN CROSS” 


7 


for sober thought, and, swayed utterly by the influence of 
the hour, he walked down the aisle, and took his stand 
beside his two friends. 

At the conclusion of the hymn Hammond came forward, 
and in a voice which shook with feeling he addressed the 
three young men. He reminded them of the gravity of the 
step they were taking, and of the sacred obligations of the 
work upon which they were about to enter. 

“While I,” he said tenderly, “do most fervently thank 
God for the noble enthusiasm which influences you to-night, 
I would not have you enter upon this solemn work with 
hearts unprepared. We will all,” he continued, “now bow 
our heads in silent prayer; and I beseech you, my dear 
young brethren, that, while we are praying, you search care- 
fully your hearts, and if you find there any doubt of your 
fitness, that you pray for courage to turn back now before 
committing yourselves further to this great undertaking ; 
for it were far better to acknowledge by returning to your 
seats that you have acted hastily than to enter unprepared 
upon the Lord’s work.” 

Did doubt or hesitation assail those young men while 
listening to those words of the old preacher, or later when 
in the stillness pervading the building all heads were bowed 
in prayer? It may be; but those who would judge them 
should consider how hard it is for a boy to acknowledge 
himself guilty of an error of judgment, and also how prone 
are the young to misconstrue their own motives, and to mis- 
take impulse for deep-seated conviction. 

The prayer finished, Hammond turned to the young 
men, and, clasping the hand of each in turn, he asked, “Do 
you, my boy, this night dedicate your life to Christ’s service, 
and pledge your energies and talents to the ministry of the 
Christian Church?” There was perhaps a deeper note of 
tenderness in the old man’s voice as he questioned Philip, 


8 


THE MAE! FROM AUSTRALIA 


whom he had known from infancy, and whom three years 
ago he had received into the church. 

After each had responded to the questions propounded, 
another hymn, “Onward, Christian Soldiers,” was started, 
and the congregation filed down the aisles to extend the 
hand of congratulation and encouragement to the volun- 
teers. Silas Bryce, a proud and happy look on his rugged 
features, was among the first to grasp his son’s hand ; nor 
was Helen Bryce, Philip's only sister, slow to follow her 
father’s example ; but Mrs. Bryce sat with bowed head, tear- 
ful eyes and bursting heart, silently praying, until at last, 
sustained by her trust that the God she worshiped would 
guide her boy, she, too, came forward, and shook the hand 
of each young man. 


"ROCKED IN THE CRADLE OF THE DEEP" 9 


CHAPTER II. 

“rocked in the cradle of the deep.” 

When the family from Undulata reached home that 
night, Mr. and Mrs. Bryce and Helen, seeing how white 
and worn Philip looked, and how little inclined he seemed 
for conversation, did not seek to detain him in the sitting- 
room. His sister lighted his bedroom lamp, and the tears 
were glistening on her eyelashes as she bade him good night. 
As he was leaving the room, his father came to him, and, 
laying a hand upon his shoulder, said: “My son, you have 
acted nobly to-night. I pray God to give you strength to 
persevere in the grand mission to which you have dedicated 
yourself ; and,” he continued huskily, “although our hearts 
are wrung with anguish when we think of the years in 
which you must necessarily be far away from us while you 
are preparing for your life-work, yet we know it is best 
that you should go to America — best for your health and 
best for the work you are to do. God bless and keep you, 
my son, and comfort us !” 

Then Philip’s mother, silently gathering him into her 
arms, kissed him, and her wistful, tearful gaze followed 
him as he crossed the hall and mounted the stairway to 
his room. 

It was long before the boy could sleep that night. The 
warmth of enthusiasm that had influenced him while under 
the spell of the evangelist’s eloquence had vanished, and in 
its place were utter heartsickness over the prospect of the 
long separation from his kindred, and chilling doubts as to 
the wisdom of the step he had taken. He tried to banish 
his heartache by picturing the glorious voyage before him, 


10 THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 

and by thoughts of all that he would see and learn and 
experience in America. He tried to reason away his doubts 
by planning the good he would accomplish in the vocation 
he had chosen ; but the pictures were blurred and the 
attempts at reasoning futile. He could not plan. He could 
not think connectedly. Neither could he sleep ; and more 
than once he was tempted to yield to the appetite acquired 
during his late illness, and resort to morphine to quiet his 
nerves and induce sleep; but he manfully resisted the temp- 
tation. 

After hours spent in tossing in wide-eyed wakefulness 
upon his bed, or in restlessly pacing the floor, he went to 
his window, and, leaning his arms upon the sill, he looked 
out upon the night fragrant with the perfume of flowers 
and aromatic shrubs, and be jeweled with the stars of that 
most beautiful of constellations, “the southern cross.” At 
last, soothed by the fragrance and beauty of the summer 
night, he again sought his pillow, and fell asleep. 

When he awoke, the morning sunlight was flooding his 
room, and his mother, seated beside him on the bed, was 
bending over him with a look of brooding tenderness upon 
her tear-stained face. 

Thinking her grief altogether due to the prospect of 
the long separation before them, Philip, in spite of his own 
misgivings and heartache, said all he could to comfort and 
reassure her ; and finally, as she still seemed uncomforted, 
he even offered to give up all thought of America. But 
she told him that his father and herself knew it to be best 
for him to leave home for a year or two ; that their anxiety 
for his health and future career had reconciled them to 
parting from him ; and that,' moreover, -his going to America 
need not involve a much longer absence than his adoption 
of her own suggestion of a trip to Tasmania and New Zea- 
land, or his father’s plan of travel and study in England. 


“ ROCKED IN THE CRADLE OF THE DEEP ” 11 


"Then, can it be, mother,” asked Philip, “that you do 
not want me to become a preacher ? I imagined that would 
please you better than any other calling I could have 
chosen.” 

“Philip,” she replied, “from your very babyhood it has 
been the dearest wish of your father and myself that you 
should some day enter the ministry; but we have always 
refrained from expressing this desire to you for fear that 
our wishes might prove a snare to your conscience, and 
influence you to choose a vocation which no man without 
fixedness of purpose, earnest, deep-seated conviction of 
duty, and entire consecration of heart should enter. Were 
I sure that you, my precious boy, possessed these qualifica- 
tions, I should be the first to bid you Godspeed ; but — but,” 
she faltered, “as it is, I tremble for your future.” 

She then besought him to think well before committing 
himself further in this undertaking; and she begged him 
if after prayerful consideration he felt himself unfitted 
for the work, to give it up, notwithstanding the pledge he 
had rashly taken the previous evening. 

While she was speaking, and all during that day, he 
thought earnestly over the advice she had given, and at 
times he was resolved to give up his plans; but, Tuesday 
morning, David Jones and Tom Carey, full of bright antici- 
pations, came to see Philip ; and he, again carried away by 
the impulse of the moment, and overpowered by his school- 
fellows’ enthusiasm, resolved to go forward in the path he 
had chosen. After that, his mother, seeing that he now 
appeared bent on carrying out the plan, and fearing, too, 
that if she said more she might influence him wrongly, 
spoke no more in opposition to the plan. Instead, she joined 
with her husband in encouraging and making ready their 
boy for his long journey. 

Instead of following the usual course of voyagers from 


12 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


Australia to America — the Pacific route — our three travel- 
ers, who had relatives in England, decided to go by way of 
that country. Accordingly, early in July, Philip Bryce, Tom 
Carey and David Jones took passage on the “Ormuz,” a 
big mail vessel bound for England. The “Ormuz” was 
freighted at Port Adelaide, but our three young men did 
not board the vessel there. Accompanied by a score or more 
of relatives and friends, they drove from Adelaide to Largs 
Bay — a distance of ten miles — and there engaged a launch 
in which they reached the mail steamer. The relatives 
and friends, after seeing the voyagers safely aboard the 
“Ormuz,” bade them a long farewell, and returned to their 
homes ; and our three young men then turned their thoughts 
seaward. 

The combined effects of seasickness and homesickness 
rendered most of the passengers exceedingly miserable dur- 
ing the four days in which the vessel was tossing and roll- 
ing and seesawing her way through the turbulent waters of 
the Great Australian Bight; and after leaving Largs Bay 
no land was sighted until the “Ormuz” reached Freemantle, 
the last port of call on the Australian coast for boats of 
this line. From Freemantle, after a stop of one day, the 
vessel pushed boldly out into the Indian Ocean, and, passing* 
to the south of Sunda Islands, headed northwest for Ceylon. 

Seasickness was now a thing of the past. The vessel 
steamed steadily along over waters glossy and placid as an 
inland lake, and beneath a silvery blue expanse of sky 
flecked here and there with clouds of fleecy whiteness and 
of fantastic forms. Cricket, jumping contests and other 
sports on deck, morning concerts by the band, and evening 
concerts by the musically inclined among the passengers, 
serve in a measure to relieve the monotony of life on ship- 
board; and the pleasure of this particular voyage was 
enhanced by the unusual mildness of the weather, the gor- 


“ ROCKED IN THE CRADLE OF THE DEEP ” 13 


geous beauty of the sunsets, and the resplendent glory of 
the moonlit nights. 

Bryce, Jones and Carey found much in their novel sur- 
roundings to interest them and to mitigate their home- 
sickness. The occasional appearance of dying-fish and 
porpoises, the frequent fire drills, the weekly deck parade 
of the entire ship’s crew, and the many droll occurrences 
attendant on the semi-weekly “baggage day” — all common- 
place incidents enough to the experienced voyager — were to 
these untraveled South Australian boys extremely diverting. 
The course of the “Ormuz” was a much frequented one; 
hence she encountered numerous ships of many nations. If 
during the daytime it was a pleasing pastime to watch these 
vessels going to and fro over this great ocean highway, and 
to interpret their different flag signals, watching for “ships 
that pass in the night” was of entrancing interest. Some- 
times while the watchers were quietly pacing the decks, 
there would suddenly shoot up, far out across the waters, the 
fiery arc of a great signal rocket ; and presently there would 
glide into view some huge, silently moving, mysterious form, 
whose myriads of terraced lights rising tier above tier amid 
the surrounding gloom, transformed what in daytime would 
have been but an ordinary mail steamer into a floating pal- 
ace of enchantment. 

On shipboard little regard is paid to the conventionalities 
and social restrictions of every-day life ; hence acquaintances 
are informally made, and intimacies, which on land would 
be months or even years in forming, are here effected in 
so many hours. By reason of their engaging manners and 
refreshing boyishness, the “Kangaroo Triplets,” as one of 
their fellow-travelers dubbed the three Australian youths, 
were soon extremely popular with the entire ship’s com- 
pany. Tom Carey was further distinguished from his 
compatriots by the appellation “The Chicken,” in sportive 


14 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


reference to “Mother Carey’s brood.” Of course, too, 
young Jones received many solicitous inquiries in regard 
to the safety of his locker; and equally, of course, their 
fellow-passengers prognosticated of the certainty of a wet 
sea and a calamitous voyage because “Davy Jones’ locker” 
and one of “Mother Carey’s chickens” were aboard. 

Among those who embarked at Freemantle was a young 
Welshman, Jonas Evans, who was returning to his native 
land after a year’s prospecting in West Australia. Evans 
was a hearty, fresh-faced, broad-shouldered, big-footed 
young giant, who must have numbered among his forbears 
some one of Irish blood; for combined with his Cymreig 
qualities were the engaging naivete and irrepressible wif of 
a son of the “Emerald Isle.” Philip, Tom and David were 
not many hours in discovering in this young “Cymro” a 
kindred spirit; and for the rest of the voyage to England 
the four were almost inseparable comrades. The pseu- 
donym “Taffy” was conferred upon Mr. Evans by the 
whimsical Tom Carey, whose reason for this was, as he 
explained, that the only historical information he had 
hitherto been able to glean concerning any inhabitant of 
Wales was that contained in the classic poem, “Taffy was 
a Welshman,” etc. ; and although this particular Welshman, 
young Evans, displayed no predatory tendencies nor any 
overweaning fondness for his neighbor’s beef, “Taffy” he 
was henceforth to his three Australian mates. 

Notwithstanding all prognostications as to rough 
weather, the “Ormuz” encountered no storms or other 
calamities ; but as she neared the equator the heat grew 
intense. Winter garments were exchanged for the lightest 
of summer apparel, the large electric fans in the saloons 
were on constant duty, and at night many of the travelers 
would exchange their hot, stuffy little staterooms for the 
decks, where, curled up in their rugs, they managed to 


“ ROCKED IN I HE CRADLE OF THE DEEP ” 15 


keep moderately comfortable ; but, like the proverbial hare, 
each found it expedient to sleep with one eye open, and to 
arouse himself betimes next morning in order to escape the 
sportive “navvies” who every morning at about three o’clock 
would turn on the hose, and deluge the decks with water, 
regardless of the maledictions, threats or pleadings of those 
who were utilizing these decks as sleeping apartments. 
“Swabbing the decks” was the ostensible object of these 
navvies ; but those whose morning slumbers were thus 
heartlessly interrupted were fully persuaded that the only 
purpose was to sweep them out into the briny deep. 

On the e'ghth day out from Freemantle the “Ormuz” 
crossed the equator, and passed into the Northern Hem- 
isphere — a new world to the three Australians on board — 
and on the ninth day it was reported that the boat was 
nearing Ceylon. By daybreak of the tenth morning the 
decks were thronged with those on the lookout, and soon 
the watchers saw an irregula dark band outlined against 
the horizon, which, as they approached, resolved itself into 
a row of trees that at first appeared to be growing out in 
midocean. Presently, however, a low, broad stretch of 
coast-line fringed with these tall, graceful cocoanut palms 
was discernible. In another three-quarters of an hour a 
huddled mass of domes, spires, minarets and flat roofs 
came into view ; and soon the whole city of Colombo was 
visible, basking in the morning sunlight. 

The “Ormuz” moved steadily onward, until about seven 
o'clock, when, having rounded the vast breakwater, she 
glided smoothly into the harbor. 

Although the coming of large ocean steamers is of 
frequent occurrence at Colombo, the arrival of one is a 
great event to the natives ; and as soon as a vessel is 
sighted, numberless small crafts of every conceivable grade 
and pattern, from the pretentious steam-tug to the rude 


16 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


little raft consisting of three or four logs lashed together, 
push out from the shores. The decks of the “Ormuz” were 
soon swarming with brown-skinned natives or coolies or 
Singhalees, jabbering and jostling, yelling and gesticula- 
ting, pushing and thrusting each other in their efforts to 
sell their fruits, shells and curios. Other coolies on rafts, 
canoes or tugs surrounded the steamer for the purpose of 
hiring their boats to convey the ship’s company ashore; so 
that the erstwhile peaceful harbor was transformed into a 
pandemonium of noise and confusion. 

Bryce, Jones, Carey and Evans engaged a canoe manned 
by four half-grown, half-naked, sleek, brown rogues whose 
merry ways, broken English, skill in handling their rude 
craft, and their agility in diving for and invariably cap- 
turing the small coins which the four young men threw into 
the water, so delighted David Jones that he immediately 
avowed his intention of turning missionary among these 
natives of Ceylon. His missionary ardor speedily cooled, 
however, when, the party of travelers and their oarsmen 
having landed, one of the grinning little natives besought 
Jones to change a sixpenny into its equivalent in loose coins. 
David obligingly complied; and the native and his three 
confederates, grinning and squealing out, “All lightly ! all 
lightly!” quickly scampered away, leaving Jones to discover 
that the coin they had given him was a threepenny piece 
instead of a sixpenny. David joined his comrades in laugh- 
ing at his having been “done” by native talent immediately 
after landing; but he decided that “Ceylon’s lovely isle” 
should not be the field of his future missionary labors. 

The crowds of coolies who had besieged the ship and 
infested the harbor were now replaced by a no less vocifer- 
ous throng in charge of queer-looking vehicles, while still 
others of the denizens of Colombo, desirous of acting as 
guides, clamored about the strangers. 


SIGHTSEEING IN COLOMBO 


17 


CHAPTER III. 

SIGHTSEEING IN COLOMBO. 

What though the spicy breezes 
Blow soft o’er Ceylon’s isle — 

Though every prospect pleases, 

And only man is vile! — Heber. 

Our quartet of sightseers decided to “do” Colombo in 
style, and to that end each hired a jinrikisha, or “rik- 
shaw” as it is familiarly termed. Sitting in state, each in 
his rikshaw with a stout Singhalee between the shafts, they 
proceeded on their tour, “feeling,” as Jonas averred, “like 
Hindoo nabobs,” or, as Philip said, “like the heroes of 
some of Rudyard Kipling’s East Indian romances.” 

The commercial section of Colombo is run mainly by 
Europeans who are monarchs of all they survey, and live 
luxuriously off the toil of their native slaves. The streets 
o.f this portion of the city are broad and well shaded by 
fine tropical trees, but sidewalks are an unknown luxury. 
Our sightseers made their way through the crowded 
thoroughfares as best they could — sometimes their four 
rikshaws moving abreast down the middle of the street; 
sometimes threading their way single file through the jost- 
ling throng; and sometimes so closely pressed up to the 
shops and bazars that the sides of their rikshaws grazed 
the walls of buildings. They were glad to get out of this 
center of traffic and into the more open portions, where 
they rode along between rows of lovely palm-trees shading 
the palatial residences of rich Europeans, and the curiously 
constructed but roomy and even luxurious bungalows of 
high-caste natives. They visited the fruit markets, the 


18 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


museum, the beautiful public parks, and the celebrated cin 
namon gardens where they spent an hour, enjoying the 
beauty and fragrance, while their dusky rikshaw bearers 
rested from their labors. Here, while lounging under a 
group of trees, and recalling with a shudder the many 
strange odors they had encountered in passing through 
the busy portions of the city, Philip remarked that Bishop 
Heber’s immortal stanza about “Ceylon’s spicy breezes” 
must have referred solely to these cinnamon gardens; 
“for,” said he, “nowhere else in this great island metropolis 
does the atmosphere bear the remotest hint of spicy breezes 
— at least, to Anglo-Saxon nostrils.” 

“And,” agreed young Jonas, breaking off a twig from 
a cinnamon bough, and inhaling its perfume, “with all due 
respect to the denizens of this island, their breezes would 
be vastly improved by being spiced.” 

Returning from the gardens about the noon hour, they 
dined at a European restaurant ; and then, having dis- 
missed their rikshaws out of compassion for the patient 
but weary bearers, they engaged two little bullock wagons 
or “hackeries,” each drawn by a sturdy, shaggy animal 
about three feet high, hornless, but having a large hump 
like a buffalo. A ride in one of these little wagons fur- 
nishes a sharp contrast to the easy, swaying motion of a 
rikshaw ; and in bone-shaking, nerve-racking discomfiture 
a bullock wagon outrivals every other vehicle on earth. 
The wheelbarrow, the camel, the mountain burro, the hay- 
cart, and even the two-wheeled Irish car when driven at 
breakneck speed over the roughest of cobblestones, are 
miracles of ease in comparison with these springless, rum- 
bling carts propelled by shambling little brown buffaloes. 
But our four indefatigable sightseers were young, and 
could stand any amount of jostling, and they greatly 
enjoyed their experiences in these Colombo bullock wagons. 


SIGHTSEEING IN COLOMBO 


19 


The young men visited tne most congested parts of the 
city, the native quarters, where the most pessimistic of 
psychologists could not fail to find ample refutation of the 
theory of race suicide. The visitors found these quarters 
extremely interesting; although it was quite apparent that 
combs and hair-brushes were not among the toilet acces- 
sories of these people ; that soap, hot water and fresh air 
were not their favorite cosmetics ; and that housecleaning 
was an untried virtue. The older children of this region 
were clad in almost Edenic simplicity, and the smaller 
youngsters were unhampered by even the traditional fig- 
leaf. All, however, were agile, sleek, straight-limbed little 
urchins, and so playful and picturesque withal that young 
Jones' missionary enthusiasm was again aroused. To pre- 
vent this enthusiasm from crystalizing into fixed purpose, 
his companions thought it well to withdraw him at once 
from this engaging region. They, therefore, hired an 
Indian guide whose speech was an unassorted mixture of 
many tongues, and who, as Jonas Evans put it, “could par- 
ley voo equally well in pigeon English, pickled French, or 
a variegated dialect of Dutch, Spanish and Hindoostanee.” 

With this compendium of polyglot language in tow, they 
drove to the Buddhist temple — a costly, unique structure 
containing many interesting relics and curios, and whose 
walls were decorated with a series of frescoes and mosaics 
depicting sundry scenes in the career of the great heathen 
deity. The most interesting of all the interesting features 
of this wonderful temple was a huge, beautifully graven 
white stone image of Buddha, stretched at ease upon a sort 
of stone dias or bench. In this vicinity the boys saw many 
specimens of the sacred banyan-tree. Another small tree 
which was growing within the temple inclosure appeared 
to be an object of peculiar reverence. This, as the guide 
explained, was because “the ever-to-be-adored, god-of-all- 


20 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRAL/ A 


gods/’ the great Buddha himself, had once slept under the 
shelter of the grandfather of this tree; and, in consequence, 
said tree and this, its offspring, partook in a measure of the 
nature of the god. The guide also stated that, instead of 
ordinary sap, some of the blood of Buddha flowed in the 
veins of this sacred palm. Whereupon the rashly sportive 
Tom Carey whipped out his penknife, and, saying that he 
meant to see if Buddha’s blood was royal ichor or of the 
color and quality of the blood of ordinary mortals, made as 
though he would cut a gash in the sacred tree. With that 
the priests and temple attendants began to screech and howl 
and threaten, while some of them even drew forth daggers, 
knives and like murderous-looking weapons, as though they 
meant to slay these godless intruders. After many abject 
apologies and considerable bribery the visitors managed to 
appease the wrath of the temple attendants, and to make 
good their own escape. There were several other Buddhist 
and Brahman temples in this part of the city, but the quar- 
tet of young men felt that they had had enough of heathen 
temples; and, as at this juncture their guide manifested a 
horrified reluctance to the further companionship of these 
would-be iconoclasts, they dismissed him. Feeling, too, that 
they had had sufficient jostling for one day, they dismissed 
their wagons and, not dreaming that it was unsafe for 
strangers to wander unattended through the streets of 
Colombo, they proceeded on their tour on foot. 

As they were passing through one of the less crowded 
streets of the business section, two coolies who had been 
squatting in the sunshine at the door of a dingy little shack 
scrambled to their feet, and made after the strangers. 
Catching up with them, the two Orientals began jabbering 
rapidly in some outlandish gibberish. At first they were 
mistaken for beggars — of whom the boys on their rounds 
had encountered a large number — until the supposed beg- 


SIGHTSEEING IN COLOMBO 


21 


gars, seizing hold of the strangers, faced them about and 
pointed to a sign over the door of the little shop. The 
sign read : 


“HAIR cur— i / — 
BEARD TRIMMED— 3 a 
SHAVE — 6d.” 


Beard-trimming was, of course, an impossibility with 
these four beardless youths, who, moreover, stood in no 
very great need of a barber’s services in any other capacity; 
but as in all probability they would never again have oppor- 
tunity to patronize an Oriental barber, they decided to try 
what could be done for them by these two obsequious 
natives. 

Tom and Jonas, who had that morning been so eager to 
catch the first glimpse of land that they had neglected their 
daily shave, now elected to have these barbers render them 
this service ; whileOdie whim seized David and Philip to 
have an. Oriental hair-cut. Accordingly, the four graciously 
accompanied their besiegers back to the tonsorial parlors, 
where they found two more obsequious natives. 

In the hair-cutting process the client is seated on the 
floor, his face to the wall, and his legs and feet doubled up 
under him. The barber then plants a knee in the victim’s 
back; with the left hand lays hold of the victim’s forelock; 
and with a curious implement, a cross between sheep-shears, 
wire-cutter and tree-trimmer, he cuts and clips and pulls 
away at the victim's hair. The operation is the reverse of 
soothing to the captive, but, let him squirm and protest 
never so energetically, hq is at the mercy of his captor, who 
does not loose his hold until the work is completed in 
accordance with prevailing Oriental style ; namely, with the 
hair on the back and sides of the head a succession of 


22 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


jagged, uneven terraces extending in irregular lines around 
the head, and terminating at the forelock, which, fortu- 
nately for the client, is left unclipped. 

As Jones and Bryce emerged from this ordeal, the latter, 
after gazing at his comrade’s irregularly shorn cranium, 
remarked that it looked like a miniature copy of the steppes 
of Russia. 

“Speak for yourself, my friend,” retorted David ; “your 
own headpiece resembles a miniature copy of the hanging 
gardens of Babylon.” Philip, after anxiously passing his 
hand over his own shorn head, ruefully acquiesced in 
David’s dictum. 

When Tom and Jonas emerged from the inner room 
where they had been incarcerated during the shaving bout, 
their plight was even more deplorable than that of their 
companions. Their faces were gashed and bleeding to such 
an extent that David declared that they looked as though 
they had fallen face downward on a jig-saw or into the 
midst of a brier patch. Philip’s comrades concurred heart- 
ily in his assertion that, rather than ever again submit to 
the untender mercies of an Oriental barber, he would, take 
the Nazarite vow. 

After they had paid the barbers they still lingered, and, 
having recovered from their chagrin over their mutilated 
appearance, they laughed heartily, and agreed that the 
experience was well worth the temporary sacrifice of their 
good looks. Carey’s facetious humor again came near get- 
ting them into serious trouble. Seeing on the floor the 
heap of red, curly hair that had been cut from David’s 
head, Tom declared that, although combustibles were not 
allowed in the mails, he meant to smuggle through to a 
certain fair lassie in Adelaide one of these ringlets as a 
memento and a proof that the vicissitudes of travel had not 
diminished the ardor of her lover’s heart or faded the radi- 


SIGHTSEEING IN COLOMBO 


23 


ance of her lover’s locks. But no sooner had he touched 
the hair than the barbers began screeching madly, and, 
rushing to Tom, they thrust him away from the hair, and 
then, turning to the other intruders, were so hostile in their 
gestures that the strangers stood not upon the order of 
their going, but quitted the place with all possible expedi- 
tion. They were at a loss to account for the anger of the 
barbers until Jonas remembered having read that it is a law 
among the Singhalees that all hair cut from the head of 
any one not a worshiper of Buddha must be made a burnt 
offering to appease the god whose wrath the barber has 
incurred by polluting himself by touching the head of a 
dog of a Christian. The boys laughed at this instance of 
heathen superstition, and David said that, like the famous 
“Barber of Seville,” these barbefs of Colombo deserved to 
have their deeds commemorated in song. “But not in light 
opera,” protested one of the boys ; “something tragic and 
weird would be more appropriate.” Another suggested that 
“The Slaughter of the Innocents” would be an appropriate 
title for the proposed musical production 

It was now past the twilight hour, and it was suggested 
that, as a fitting close to their day in Colombo, they should 
patronize an Oriental restaurant; “for,” reasoned Jonas, 
“having visited these charming people in their homes, wor- 
shiped in their temple, and paid tribute to the skill of their 
barbers, it is but meet that we sup with them.” They found 
their way into one of the resorts run altogether by native 
talent, and to first appearance very much after the manner 
of European restaurants. Our four hungry boys, however, 
found the entertainment somewhat of the nature of a 
Barmecide feast. They secured a table to themselves, and 
presently there was placed before them, with an accompani- 
ment of the inevitable rice and curry (neither of which 
edibles was at all to the liking of the four guests), a platter 


24 


THE MAN FROM A US / R ALIA 


on which reposed a mould of stuff, round of form, and in 
color and consistency resembling leather. This they dis- 
covered to be bread, and no doubt bread of excellent nutri- 
tive quality, only their Anglo-Saxon molars were unequal 
to the mastication of it. Beside each plate was placed a cup 
containing some drink, queer of smell, still queerer of taste, 
and greenish red of color. This concoction, for want of a 
better name, they decided to call tea. One sip of the bev- 
erage satisfied all desire for a further acquaintance with 
it. Four kinds of meat were placed on the table. But, 
unfortunately, a speculation as to the nature of these meats 
arose before any of them had been tasted. ‘‘This/’ said 
Jonas in reference to a dish containing something resem- 
bling a small and much battered doormat, “is neither ‘fish 
nor fowl nor good red herring;’ what can it be?” 

“It must be monkey meat,” said David, “which, I’ve 
heard, is much in favor with the natives, as an edible.” 

“And this,” said Philip, indicating the contents of 
another platter, “looks like a cross section from the torso 
of an attenuated cat.” 

These remarks decided against the four meats; “for,” 
said Tom, “if one is monkey and another cat. I shudder to 
think what may be the nature of the other two.” 

They made a light meal off of fruits and lemonade, and 
then turned their footsteps in the direction of the docks ; 
and by nine- o’clock that night they were again safe on 
board the “Ormuz” — tired and spent, but greatly delighted 
with the experiences of their day in Colombo. 

The day after leaving Ceylon the “Ormuz” met another 
large English vessel that signaled, “Bad weather ahead.” 
Accordingly, the “Ormuz” altered her course to a more 
southerly one, thus avoiding the worst of the bad weather, 
but finding the sea, even here, very choppy ; and the next 
day was the roughest the vessel had yet encountered, for 


SIGHTSEEING IN COLOMBO 


25 


she crossed the tail of the Monsoon against which the other 
vessel had warned her; and, although there was no cause 
for serious alarm, the steamer pitched and tossed and dis- 
ported herself in a manner even more erratic and distress- 
ing than when crossing the Bight. But after reaching the 
Arabian Gulf, it was peaceful voyaging upon an unruffled 
sea with an occasional glimpse of land far away. By this 
time the passengers had again entirely recovered from sea- 
sickness, and their only discomfiture was due to the hot 
winds blowing from off the sandy Arabian coast. 

Two days later they entered the beautiful Gulf of Aden. 
That night the moon and myriads of stars illumed the broad 
vault of sky, and their reflected radiance shone back in soft- 
ened beauty from the clear waters beneath. Standing on 
the larboard side of the vessel, David, Tom and Philip 
gazed for the last time for many a night upon their favor- 
ites, bright Canopus of “The Ship,” brilliant Bungala and 
Archenar of “The Centaur,” and the four most dazzling of 
all the blazonry of stars, those of the “Southern Cross.” 
Then, crossing to the starboard side of the vessel, they saw 
for the first time the steadfast white light of the North 
Star, which they then and there accepted as their polar 
guide through the new country for which they were bound. 

From Aden through the famous “Gate of Tears” the 
steamer entered the Red Sea, and all on board felt that 
they were nearing the land of the Pharaohs. A refreshing 
breeze, which obligingly continued during the four days 
from Bab-el-Mandeb to Suez, made the passage of the Red 
Sea much more agreeable than it is ordinarily found to be. 
The “Ormuz” dropped anchor in Suez harbor late at night, 
and by daybreak next morning many were on deck with 
their field-glasses turned toward the east, where the lofty 
peak of Mount Sinai loomed in the distance — at first 
through a foggy mist; but in a short while the sun, shoot- 


26 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


ing up suddenly from behind some intervening hills, dis- 
pelled the fog, and afforded the watchers a clear view of 
lonely, rock-bound Sinai. Nothing else seen on the voyage 
equaled in impressiveness this sunrise vision of the historic 
mount. 

Upon leaving the town of Suez the steamer arranged 
her searchlights and took other precautionary measures for 
working her way through the narrow, tortuous canal. Not- 
withstanding that the passengers confidently expected the 
vessel to get stranded on a sand-bar, or to meet with some 
serious accident, the passage was made without misadven- 
ture ; and, after a short stop at Port Said for coal, the ship 
steamed on into the Mediterranean. 

Skirting the Isles of Greece, the vessel entered the 
Straits of Messina. The entrance being made in the night, 
the passengers failed to see the snow-topped peak of Etna ; 
but upon emerging from the straits late the next afternoon 
there could be seen to the north, and rising abruptly out of 
the ocean, a grim, desolate, rocky island with a huge pillar 
of smoke issuing from its loftiest summit. This was Strom - 
boli ; and presently, when darkness had settled down upon 
the waters, Stromboli began to display great volumes of 
intermittent flame and smoke, and to behave altogether as 
a renowned volcano should for the entertainment of travel- 
ers from distant and benighted lands which could not boast 
of volcanoes. 

“ ‘See Naples, and die,’ ” quoted Jonas the next morning 
to Tom and David, who were leaning on the railing of the 
deck with their glasses directed so as to catch a distant 
view of beautiful, bewildering Naples, with her great bay 
stretching out in miles of sparkling loveliness ; her near 
background of vine-clad hills and grassy slopes, and her 
distant background, rugged, awe-inspiring Mount Vesu- 
vius. A more experienced traveler, who overheard Jonas’ 


SIGHTSEEING IN COLOMBO 


27 


remark to Tom and David, and who by reason of long 
familiarity with this Italian metropolis had lost many of 
his former illusions, said that “Smell Naples, and die,” 
would be a more appropriate quotation. Those on board 
the “Ormuz,” however, had no opportunity to ascertain — 
at close range — the aptness of either quotation, and must 
need comfort themselves with the thought that “distance 
lends enchantment” to smell as well as to view. Owing to 
a rumor of plague on board a west-bound steamer whose 
coming was daily expected at Naples, the authorities would 
not allow the “Ormuz” to enter the harbor, unless she first 
submitted to a fourteen days’ quarantine. Nor were any 
of her passengers permitted to land. Vesuvius, as though 
to make amends for the inhospitable conduct of the city, 
bestirred herself ; and while those on board the vessel lying 
to outside the harbor were awaiting the result of the parley 
between the Neapolitan authorities and the ship officials, 
they saw the volcano in action. As it was broad daylight, 
the demonstration was not so impressive as it would have 
been had it occurred at a later hour. Nevertheless, Vesu- 
vius, although hampered by bright sunshine, threw off 
immense quantities of “fire, smoke, ashes and lava” (as the 
primary geographies express it) ; and did all in her power 
to live up to her reputation of the most wonderful volcano 
in the world. 

At Marseilles the steamer was again forbidden to land 
unless she first complied with certain quarantine restrictions 
to which she had no mind to submit. However, the hours 
spent outside this inhospitable harbor were not altogether 
without entertainment, as some beautiful Marseillese girls 
came out to the vessel in gaily decked barges laden with 
fruits, flowers and silks to display to those on board the 
vessel. 

A rough time was anticipated in passing through the 


28 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


Gulf of Lyons, which is considered to have the most diffi- 
cult coast line on the globe ; but for once the usually turbu- 
lent waters were placid, and the only thing the passengers 
on the “Ormuz” found to remark was that freak of nature 
— the broad, steady current of fresh water out in mid- 
stream. 

Emerging from the gulf, and leaving the Balearic 
Islands to the east, the vessel made for Gibraltar, and 
through this renowned passage, with the low stretch of 
African coast on the one hand, and the impregnable fort- 
ress on the other, the steamer entered the Atlantic, and 
proceeded northward to Plymouth ; then into the Channel 
— going through the proverbial fog all the way from Plym- 
outh to Tilbree Docks. Here, our three Australians bade 
adieu to the good ship “Ormuz,” and took express train to 
London — sorrowing most of all that they would see no 
more the genial Welshman, Jonas Evans. 

After a month of sightseeing in London, and in visiting 
friends and relatives in Lancastershire, Philip, David and 
Tom, thinking they would enjoy the novel experiences to 
be had on an emigrant vessel, took passage from Liverpool 
on the “Baltic,” a large, somewhat crowded, but comfort- 
ably appointed emigrant ship bound for New York. But, 
before paying in their passage money, each must needs 
satisfy the proper officials on certain points ; namely, that 
he had no tuberculosis microbe or other hereditary or 
transmittable disease germ lurking in his system ; no small- 
pox, yellow-jack, or other pestilence concealed about his 
person; and neither dynamite bomb nor infernal machine 
among his effects. Then, having signed a declaration to 
the end that he was not an anarchist or a bigamist ; that he 
had never committed a felony ; and that he had never been 
incarcerated in a lunatic asylum or a feeble-minded insti- 
tute, the trio were graciously permitted to pay their pas- 


SIGHTSEEING IN COLOMBO 


29 


sage money, and to trust themselves to the vicissitudes of 
another long ocean voyage. 

On account of the heavy lading of the "Baltic,” the 
voyage across the Atlantic was a long one ; but at noon of 
the tenth day the vessel entered New York Harbor, and 
her nineteen hundred passengers were landed on Ellis 
Island immediately under the shadow of the Statue of Lib- 
erty. Then, having again passed triumphantly through the 
ordeal of governmental inspection, our trio of Australians 
were accorded the freedom of the land of the “Stars and 
Stripes.” 

Without waiting to visit places of interest in the "Mod- 
ern Gotham,” they proceeded at once by train to Lexing- 
ton, Ky., reaching that place one Sunday morning in late 
August. The next week they matriculated at the univer- 
sity, and began their three years’ course of study. 


30 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


CHAPTER IV. 

A DISH OF GOSSIP. 

Ginseng, a quaint, tree-embowered, straggling village 
of about five hundred inhabitants, was environed by a well- 
to-do farming community of northern Kentucky. Com- 
merce in Ginseng was represented by one drug store, three 
general merchandise establishments, and one millinery 
emporium. The chief industrial features were a large 
roller flour-mill, one blacksmith’s, one cobbler’s, one car- 
penter’s shop, and a clock and watch repairing establish- 
ment, also serving as a tonsorial parlor. The Filson County 
Jupiter was, in the opinion of its editor and proprietor, the 
chief educational and refining influence of the place — not 
excepting church, school or public hall. 

The only hotel in Ginseng, an old, drab-painted frame 
house, bore this sign over the gateway: 


GINSENG HOTEL. 
(For Men Only.) 


This house was kept by Miss Miranda Hogg and her 
widowed sister, Mrs. Jane Burgess. Miss Hogg was a 
large, fresh-faced, stout spinster with piercing, dark eyes, 
inquisitive nose and grizzled hair. Mrs. Burgess was spec- 
tacled, bent shouldered and sharp nosed, and her hair was 
brushed severely back from her forehead, and gathered 
into a tight little knot over which she usually wore a large 
silk kerchief tied under her chin, she being a sufferer from 
neuralgia. The sisters were addicted to shoulder shawls, 
dipping snuff, unbounded curiosity and uncompromising 


A DISH OF GOSSIP 


31 


frankness. No other reason for their exclusion of feminine 
boarders was ever discovered than that conveyed in Miss 
Miranda’s oft-uttered declaration, “We want no pernickity 
women boardahs a-messin’ an’ pott’rin’ ’round — alius want- 
in’ hot watah, fresh towels, aired beds, an’ all sorts uv fool 
waitin’ on.” 

Although women as boarders were tabooed, as callers 
they were always welcome ; and the ladies of the com- 
munity, far from resenting the above given strictures on 
their sex, frequently dropped in to exchange with the sis- 
ters the compliments of the season, to partake of their 
delicious tea-cakes, and to be regaled with their ever-ready 
and ever-fresh dish of gossip. 

One sunny afternoon in March, Mrs. Jane was seated 
in a chair near one of the front windows in the big, old- 
fashioned sitting-room — her feet planted on the rung of 
another chair on which was a big, round gourd used as a 
receptacle for garden seed, her lap filled with packages 
which she was examining with a view to the spring plant- 
ing.. Farther back in the room Miranda, with spectacles 
astride her nose, and her stout person ensconced in the 
depths of a cushioned rocker, was reading aloud from the 
latest issue of the Jupiter. 

Presently she threw aside the paper and exclaimed : “I 
declare! If Shelburn Broadus don’t improve his papah, he 
kin jes’ scratch me ofifen his list uv subscribahs — I don’t 
keer if he is a boardah. The Jupiter's gittin’ so it hain’t 
wuth a pinch o’ snufif.” 

“You’re ’bout right,” assented Jane. “Them whut wants 
politics an’ State news an’ book notices an’ sich rubbish kin 
git plenty frum the big dailies, but whut we want in our 
home papah is the news uv this neighborhood ; an’ thah 
hain’t a thing in the Jupiter about any uv the Ginseng folks 
whut we didn’t know already.” This was not to be won- 


32 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


dered at, since the editor’s chief source of information 
concerning the social and domestic happenings of the com- 
munity was the hotel sisterhood. 

Hitching her chair forward to the other front win- 
dow, Miss Miranda said, as she nodded to a tall, dark, 
soldierly-looking young man walking leisurely down the 
street : “Thah goes Dr. Moreland ! I thought he wuz in 
Durritt to-day to consult with them two Louisville doctahs- 
on Ned Simms’ case.” 

“No, the ap'intment’s full to-morrow,” said Jane. 

"‘Humph!” ejaculated her sister, ""pore Ned’ll like as. 
not die while the big medical bugs is gittin’ ready to set 
on his case.” 

“Thah’s Jule Fowler turnin’ in at our gate,” said Jane 
after a pause. "‘Now I reckon we’ll l’arn all about the 
chu’ch meetin’ last night.” 

Neither sister arose as the visitor, a short, stoutly built, 
florid woman, tapped at the open door leading into the hall ; 
but both greeted her affably. 

“Howdy, Jule? Glad to see you. Lay off your bonnet 
an’ rest your head,” said Jane. 

“Have that cheer, an’ make yourse’f comf’table,” urged 
Miranda, indicating the twin to the rocker she herself was 
occupying. ‘"Well, whut do you know?” she queried, as 
Mrs. Fowler, having deposited her gingham sunbonnet on 
the bed, seated herself in the proffered chair. 

“Reckon I’d bettah ask you that, Randy,” retorted the 
caller. “You’re so centrifugally located heah on the middle 
o’ Main Street, you kin have fust grab at all the news ; 
while I might as well be livin’ in a cave as way out thah 
on the farm — fur all the news that comes my way — an’ I 
hain’t been offen the place, ’cept on Sundays an’ prayer- 
meetin’ nights, fur more’n a month.” 

“Whut’s been keepin’ you?” inquired Jane. 


A DISH OF GOSSIP 


33 


“My buggy nag's lame, an’ ole Nell, the only other hoss 
whut hain't wuckin' on the farm, has a colt ; an’ much as 
I wanted to git to town, I jes’ p’intedly won’t drive a mare 
with a colt follerin’, an' gittin’ underfoot, an' all tangled up 
in the buggy wheels. But I was detarmined to come this 
evenin', whether or no ; an’ I told Jim Dick at dinner that 
I meant to have a hoss, if every plow on the place had to 
stop ; so he ’lowed I might have ole Roan, an’ here I am. 
Lookin’ ovah your garden seed, are you?” she continued 
after a time. 

“Yes, but the mice got in the gourd, an’ nibbled consid- 
erable ; an’ whut they left is mostly worm-eat. Jes’ look at 
them beans, will you?” indicating a parcel wrapped in a 
yellow bit of newspaper. 

“Throw ’em to the pigs, an’ I’ll send you some beans 
whut is beans,” said Mrs. Fowler, good-naturedly. “Con- 
gressman Gilbert, he sent ’em to Jim Dick straight out uv 
the Agricultural Bureau r.t Washington. We got more’n 
we need, so you’re welcome to some.” 

“Look at Dell Mason, will you,” here spoke Miss Hogg, 
as a stylishly dressed girl passed up the street. “Ain’t she 
on a dike — new Eton cloth suit with hat an’ gloves to 
match !”* 

“An’, as I live, a silk petticoat!” added Mrs. Fowler, 
as Miss Mason, in crossing to the other side of the street, 
lifted her skirt and displayed a changeable silk underskirt. 

“Della’s a dresser, shore,” remarked Jane, “an’ a right 
purty gal, too, when she’s fixed out in her finery, an’ 
harnessed up in them new-style corsets with strops to hold 
down her hips, an’ to make her look slim an’ shapey.” 

“Well, yes,” admitted Mrs. Fowler, grudgingly, “Della’s 
good ’nough lookin’, I s’pose, though I never could abide 
red hair; but it riles me to see her strainin’ every narve 
tryin’ to dress like gals whut kin afford fine clothes. Last 


34 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


summer Daut couldn’t have a new thing but whut Dell 
Mason tried to git somethin’ jes’ as fine.” 

This reminded the sisters to inquire about Mrs. Fow- 
ler’s daughter. 

“When’d you heah frum Sadie Jean?” asked Randy. 
“Hope she’s in good health. I thought her lookin’ anything 
but well, though, when she wuz home Christmas.” 

Mrs. Fowler had a family of five children of whom the 
eldest child and only girl, Sadie Jean or “Daut” (short for 
daughter), was, as her mother proudly informed all new- 
comers, “off to boar din ’-school at Harrodsburg, polishin’ 
up in all the accomplishments.” 

“Yes, Daut she give me a heap uv worriment when she 
wuz home, Christmas,” said the fond mother. “She had 
headaches an’ couldn’t sleep, an’ looked peeky as a sick 
kitten.” 

“You ought to have had Moreland proscribe fuh her,” 
said Jane. 

“Pshaw !” replied Mrs. Fowler, “Ralph Moreland hain’t 
no manner ’count when it comes to d’agnosin’ young lady- 
like complaints ; but I did call in Dr. Clark, an’ — ” 

“Doctah Clark!” interrupted Randy, contemptuously. 
“A body’d be likely to die while waitin’ Clark’s pokey 
motions. It takes half an hour fuh him to git his specs 
settled on his nose.” 

“Clark’s slow, as you say,” admitted Mrs. Fowler ; “but 
he’s sure, an’ that’s better’n swiftness. He examined Daut 
throughly, an’ said jes’ whut I’d suspicioned, that she was 
on the varge of narvous prosecution. He contributed it to 
her studyin’ too hard. When I l’arned she’d been studyin’ 
eight books, ’sides her music, I knowed he wuz right; an’ 
says I to her when Dr. Clark had went: ‘No wonder you 
need boneset tea an’ liver pills. Your head must feel like 
the tower of Babble with all them sciences an’ ol’gies an* 


A DISH OF GOSSIP 


35 


fur ’in tongues a-rattliiv 'round in it.' I set right down that 
very night, an’ writ a letter to the facurlty uv that college, 
whut was enough to make ’em open their eyes fur once. 
This term they’ve lopped off four of them studies, an’ Daut 
she writes that she’s gainin’ flesh right along, an’ sleepin’ 
like a top.” 

The stream of Mrs. Fowler’s eloquence, which when 
started upon the subject of the idolized “Daut” was likely 
to flow endlessly if not interrupted, was at this moment 
checked by the entrance of Mrs. Milton Bright, a comely, 
motherly-looking woman in the early forties. 

“Where’d you hitch?” asked Mrs. Jane after prelimi- 
nary greetings had been exchanged. 

Mrs. Bright explained that she had left the horse and 
vehicle at the blacksmith shop. She also said that she and 
Mrs. Goodloe, who had accompanied her to town, had been 
spending the day at Mrs. Henson’s. 

“Where’s Mrs. Goodloe?” asked Miss Hogg. 

“She stopped in at Charity Bird’s to see about having a 
dress made. She’ll be in by and by,” replied Mrs. Bright, 
hesitatingly, knowing that the hotel sisters were not on 
speaking terms with their next-door neighbor, Miss Charity 
Bird, dressmaker. 

Mrs. Burgess only frowned and drew in her lips, at this 
reply, but the more outspoken Miranda ejaculated: “Sally 
Goodloe ought to have bettah gumption than to patronize 
Charity Bird. Like’s not she’ll skimp the dress, an’ steal 
a lot uv the goods.” 

“Why don’t Mrs. Goodloe go to one of them stylish 
Durritt dressmakers?” asked Mrs. Fowler. “Charity Bird’ll 
make a botch of the dress, if she don’t do wuss. I wouldn’t 
trust her to make even a calico wrapper.” 

To prevent further remarks of this nature, Mrs. Bright 
hastened to say : “Ain’t Zerelda Henson’s new house splen- 


36 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


did? She took us all through it to-day, and it’s so hand- 
some and convenient.” 

“Yes, I reckon ’tis handsome,” was Miss Hogg’s grudg- 
ing admission, “but to my notion there’s too much ginger- 
bread fixin’s an’ shingle trimmin’s an’ garthic porches to 
be very tasty.” 

“And the very idey,” put in Julia Fowler, “uv any 
fam’ly here in Ginseng havin' a bathroom like city folks 
— with hot an’ cold water pipes — an’ a big, posslin-lined 
contraption shaped like a coffin, to wash in ! Daut, she put 
after her pa last summer to have us a bathroom rigged up 
(fur she’s got a lot o’ citified notions since she started to 
boardin’-school) ; but I set my foot down on that. There’s 
lots o’ ways we kin spend money better’n wastin’ it on 
bathrooms. The Bible says ‘cleanness is next to godliness,’ 
an’ I’ve alius tried to live up to that ; but to have a place 
fixed up jes’ to perform your ablitions in is a-wastin’ uv 
good house room.” 

“Why, I think a bathroom so convenient,” said Mrs. 
Bright, “and we’re thinking of having us one built out at 
the end of the back porch, handy to the kitchen for the hot 
water.” 

“.Well,” said Madame Fowler with an air of finality, 
“the big wash-tub brung into the porch room ev’ry Satur- 
day night has sarved fur me an’ mine to scrub ourselves in 
all these years ; an’ I reckon I’m as clean as Zereldy Hen- 
son ever dared be.” 

Further discussion of the Hensons ceased with the 
entrance of the next caller, Mrs. Sarah Goodloe, a sister 
of Peter Henson. 

“I s’pose you all wuz at the business meetin’ las’ night,” 
said Miranda as soon as Mrs. Goodloe was comfortably 
seated. “Me an’ Jane didn’t git thah. We hurried an’ got 
suppah ovah airly, an’ wuz ready to go when two drum- 


A DISH OF GOSSIP 


mers driv ovah frum the station. So me an’ Jane had to 
lay off our bonnets, an’ hustle ’round to git ’em something 
to eat. By the time we’d fed ’em, an’ got their room ready, 
fuh the night, it wuz too late to go to meetin'.” 

“I reckon Carr wuz elected, seein’s he wuz the only one 
to be voted on,” said Jane. “Me an’ Randy ’lowed he’d 
board heah, convenient to the chu’ch, an’ we're goin’ to fix 
up that nice room ovah the dinin’-room fuh him.” 

“You’re countin’ your chickens before they’re hatched, 
this time,” observed Mrs. Fowler. 

“Yes,” agreed Mrs. Bright, “I don’t think you need 
be in any great hurry with your plans for boarding the 
preacher. We haven’t secured one yet.” 

“And, from present prospects, it will be quite awhile 
before we do, I’m afraid,” added Mrs. Goodloe. 

“Whut ! Ain’t Carr cornin’?” asked the sisters. 

“No, indeed, he was voted down,” replied Mrs. Goodloe. 

“Voted down ? How could that be, seein’ as thah warn’t 
no other name to be voted on?” asked Randy. 

“Foster and Lane got into a wrangle, as usual,” said 
Mrs. Bright, “and between them Brother Carr is out of 
the running.” 

“The way them two men do squabble an’ take on is a 
positive disgrace,” declared Mrs. Fowler. “I don’t keer if 
Sammy Lane is my fust cousin. He an’ Jake Foster ought 
to be turned out of the church. They hain’t no more 
religion than you could hold on the p’int uv a needle, an’ 
are as quarrelsome as two tom-cats.” 

“Who or whut wuz finally settled on?” asked Mrs. Bur- 
gess. 

“Yes, tell us jes’ whut happened aftah Jake and Sam 
got through their hair-pullin’ scrap,” urged Julia Fowler. 
“I had to leave, you know, before meetin’ broke.” 

“After some discussion it was agreed that the matter 


38 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


of finding a preacher should be placed in the hands of a 
committee of three brethren,” explained Nancy Bright. 

“Who’s on that committee?” inquired Miranda. 

“Mr. Bright, Mr. Mason and brother Peter,” answered 
Mrs. Goodloe. 

“Well, I hope they’ll hurry mattahs,” observed Miss 
Hogg. “It’s time things wuz settled. Any reg’lar preachah 
will be better’n this samplin’ business. We’ve had nigh on 
to fifty difif’runt men to preach fuh us in the last two year, 
an’ the chu’ch’s goin’ to rack an’ ruin in consequence uv 
sich a loose way uv manigin’ things.” 


A COMMITTEE MEETING 


39 


CHAPTER V. 

A COMMITTEE MEETING. 

During the weeks following the church business meet- 
ing, the new committee, consisting of Peter Henson, Milton 
Bright and Robert Mason, held many conferences, consid- 
ered many applications, and agreed upon several men, only 
to find upon application in each instance that he had made 
other arrangements or that the position offered did not 
suit him. 

“ ‘Another Richmond in the field’ !” exclaimed Mr. 
Bright one evening in April, when the committee sat in 
Mr. Mason’s library. As he spoke he broke the seal of a 
letter. “This,” he explained after a hasty glance at its 
contents, “is from one of the officers of the church at 
Fairtown, recommending S. C. Tiber to our considera- 
tion. I’ll tell you what it is, brethren,” he went on, laying 
the letter on the table, and looking ruefully at his two 
conferees, “if this business isn’t soon settled, we’ll have to 
hire a secretary. This is the seventh letter since our last 
conference, only three days ago, and about the seventieth 
since we began our quest for a preacher.” 

“What we need,” amended Peter Henson, whimsically, 
“is a ministerial bureau. There are teachers’ agencies, 
domestic help bureaus, and even matrimonial agencies; so 
why not ministerial bureaus? During the last five weeks 
we’ve had letters from sixteen church officers, each eager 
to fit us out with some preacher of his own choosing; 
we’ve written to' twenty-one preachers, and we’ve had 
applications from about thirty others, each desirous of 
entering this Macedonian field. I didn’t know there were 


40 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


so many unattached preachers in our whole brotherhood; 
and each one of these men, who has applied either directly 
or through some one else, seems to possess every recog- 
nized clerical virtue, as well as some other qualities which 
until now I never dreamed of being virtues at all.” 

Robert Mason next spoke. “Well, we can’t possibly 
choose more than one man; so the only course left us, it 
seems to me, in order not to offend any of these brethren 
who’ve taken such an interest in supplying our need, is to 
ignore every application or recommendation we’ve had, and 
for you, Brother Henson, to nominate a new man. We’ll 
agree to stand by any one you may select — eh, Bright?” 

“But I tell you it isn’t possible for me to think of a 
fresh name,” said Henson ; “the whole field has already 
been too thoroughly canvassed.” 

“If you gentlemen are quite at the end of your 
resources, I’ve a name to propose,” said Mrs. Mason, who 
until now had been sitting by, apparently intent upon the 
fancy work in her hands. 

The three men turned towards her, inquiringly. 

“Perhaps, though,” she continued, “it would be out of 
place for me to suggest any one.” 

“Not at all, not at all,” Mr. Henson assured her. “Any 
suggestion from you will be most gratefully received.” 

“Who is your man, Mary?” her husband asked. 

“P. S. Bryce,” she replied. 

“Bryce? Bryce?” murmured Henson. “I don’t remem- 
ber ever to have heard the name — ah, yes ! I do,” he added 
quickly. “Philip Bryce! An Australian, isn’t he? I now 
recall a young Australian of that name, who delivered a 
very able address at our National Convention two or three 
years ago. You were at that Convention, Bright. Don’t 
you recollect that address?” 

“Yes, indeed I do,” assented Mr. Bright. “But doubt- 


A COMMITTEE MEETING 


41 


less this Bryce has returned to Australia; had he stayed in 
this country until now, we’d have heard more about him.” 

“He was still here winter before last,” remarked Mr. 
Mason, “when I was visiting in Fulton, Mo.; for he’d just 
closed a meeting at that place which had resulted in seventy 
additions to the church.” 

“But where is he now ? Can you tell us, Sister Mason ?” 
Mr. Henson asked. 

“I met him in Louisville two months ago,” she an- 
swered. “He’d been engaged in evangelistic work, he told 
me, but was thinking of giving it up, and of locating with 
some church. At that time we had Gates and Stetson in 
view, so I said nothing to Mr. Bryce as to having him 
preach for us.” 

“Why,” said Milton Bright, “this seems to be the very 
man for us. What say you, brethren, shall I write him? 
What’s his address, Mrs. Mason?” 

“His address, two months ago, was Indianapolis,” was 
the reply. 

“Hold on a bit, Milton,” interrupted Henson, as Bright 
drew forward writing materials, ^preparatory to beginning 
a letter. “I’m not at all sure that this young Bryce is the 
man for our pulpit. There can be no doubt about his 
ability and culture ; and at the time we heard him in that 
Convention, and later, perhaps, when he held that meeting 
in Fulton, no young man in the ministry stood higher with 
the brotherhood than he. But haven’t I heard somewhere 
that since then he has taken a course of study at one of 
those big universities in the East?” 

“What if he has?” asked Milton Bright. 

“Why, if he’s been through a course at one of those 
Eastern seats of scholarly profundity,” answered Henson, 
“the chances are that he has become tainted with the ‘New 
Thought’ heresy ; and let me warn you, brethren, we want 


42 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


no one infected with that pestiferous ‘New Thought’ or 
‘Higher Criticism’ germ turned loose in our pulpit.” 

“I think you’re needlessly alarmed in this instance, Hen- 
son,” here spoke Milton Bright. “This Bryce was, I under- 
stand, a student of Lexington Bible College for three or 
four years, when he first came to America; and during 
those years under the tuition of President McGarvey and 
his corps of professors, he would have become so rooted 
and grounded in the truth that it would take more than a 
nine or ten months’ bout at Harvard or Yale to knock 
him out.” 

“Besides,” added Robert Mason, “these Australian stu- 
dents aren’t the kind to be seriously jostled by any of that 
‘New Theology’ nonsense. To a man, they’re zealous, 
staunch and sound in the faith. Their having forsaken 
home, friends and country to come here to be educated for 
the ministry proves that.” 

Peter Henson still shook his head doubtfully. “We’ve 
known others, Robert, just as zealous and consecrated, 
seemingly, as any of these Australians — those, too, who’ve 
had the advantage of Lexington Bible College training, 
who have, nevertheless, completely lost their bearings. 
Look at young Trent — practically an infidel. Look at 
Macklin, Boyd, Jarvis, Tanner, and a score or more of 
others, who deny the authenticity of about all of the Old 
Testament, belittle Hebrew prophecy, doubt the inspira- 
tion of Paul’s teachings, scoff at baptism, repudiate the 
atonement — in fact, repudiate the whole plan of salvation. 
And, still worse, these men haven’t only gone astray them- 
selves, but they’ve disturbed — yea, even wrecked — the faith 
of others, and have in many instances split the churches for 
which they preached. 

“Still, Mr. Henson,” said Mary Mason, “while all you 
say is only too true as regards many of our bright young 


A COMMITTEE MEETING 


43 


preachers, I'm inclined to think from what I’ve seen and 
heard of this Brother Bryce that he’s not one to be much 
influenced by any of these latter-day, speculative heresies.” 

Henson, however, still looked grave. Finally, Robert 
Mason proposed that the committee correspond with Bryce 
concerning the soundness of his religious views and his 
availability for a call. 

Milton Bright then suggested that, instead of adopting 
Mr. Mason’s plan, they simply invite Mr. Bryce to take 
charge of the work at Ginseng for six months, with the 
prospect of a more extended call if both preacher and 
people so willed. “We can,” he went on, “find out, long 
before the six months have expired, the trend of his teach- 
ings.” 

But Henson reminded his two colleagues that in six 
months’ preaching Bryce, if himself tainted with the higher 
criticism microbe, could inoculate many of the congrega- 
tion, and thus work infinite damage. 

“Well,” suggested Mason, “make it three months instead 
of six.” 

They finally agreed to write Bryce, asking him to take 
charge of the work for three months, with the understand- 
ing that if both sides were suited, he should then be called 
for three years. 

After this matter had been settled, Mrs. Mason said : 
“I’m not at all sure that our church as a body isn’t making 
too great a hue and cry about this ‘Higher Criticism’ busi- 
ness, anyway. By being too severe on these young disciples 
of what they’re pleased to term ‘New Thought,’ we cause 
their views, which before were merely visionary or nebu- 
lous, to crystalize into conviction ; and these men then 
become partisans of the new doctrine where before they 
were merely passive.” 

“Yes,” agreed her husband, “I’m convinced that what a 


44 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


good many of these new Biblical doctrines need is a good 
dose of letting alone. Put these young fledglings of the 
‘New Theology’ poultry-yards to work; arouse them to 
strenuous effort along missionary, Sunday-school and pas- 
toral visiting lines, and soon, in the stress of church activi- 
ties, their new views on the atonement, the authenticity or 
inspiration of certain Scriptures, and all that, will gradu- 
ally fall away from them.” 

“There’s much good sense in what you say, Robert,” 
finally agreed Peter Henson. “Many of these new views 
are nothing but fads which, if let alone, will be forgotten; 
but which, if warmed and fed by opposition, grow from a 
fad into a cult. So, perhaps a Gamaliel-like policy is wisest. 
If this thing be of men, it will come to naught, but if it 
be of God, no man can fight against it. Only, brethren, 
remember this, it can’t be of God — at least, not of the 
God we know and reverence; for if these new theological 
doctrines be true, the God revealed to us through the 
Bible, and whom we in our ignorance have blindly wor- 
shiped, doesn’t exist.” 

“Well, Milt,” said Robert Mason, as Henson and Bright 
were leaving, “write to this Brother Bryce as soon as pos- 
sible. I sincerely hope he’ll prove the right man for us. 
Our church has sampled so many different candidates and 
sermons during the last eighteen months that we’re suffer- 
ing from spiritual indigestion; so the sooner we settle down 
to a steady diet, the better for our souls’ health.” 


HIS FIRST APPEARANCE 


45 


CHAPTER VI. 

HIS FIRST APPEARANCE. 

Philip Bryce accepted the call to Ginseng, and upon a 
Friday morning in May Milton Bright met him at the 
station, and carried him off to Willow Brook Farm, where 
he was to remain the guest of the Brights for a few days 
until he should find some suitable boarding-place. 

The five years that have elapsed since that February 
afternoon when Philip, then a pale-faced, hollow-cheeked, 
listless boy of twenty, lay under the gum-trees on the banks 
of the Gawler River, have wrought great changes in his 
appearance, and great development of his character. He is 
now erect, deep-chested, broad-shouldered — every line of 
his tall figure betokening strength and grace. His com- 
plexion is ruddy, his finely shaped head is well poised, and 
his face, with its broad, intellectual forehead, steadfast 
hazel eyes, refined nose, large, well-formed mouth, and 
resolute chin, is one to inspire confidence and to win 
friends. 

Upon Sunday morning Milton Bright, desirous that 
the new minister should be spared the embarrassment of 
entering church in full view of the entire congregation, 
contrived that he should reach the building while Sunday- 
school was still in progress in the basement, and before the 
rest of the congregation had started for morning service. 

Sunday-school being over, the people began to flock 
into the auditorium. It is always a trial to a young and 
inexperienced man to speak for the first time to a large 
audience of strangers; and this Sunday morning as Philip 
Bryce, from his post of observation behind the pulpit, saw 


46 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


the large and critical-looking audience before him, and re- 
alized that he was to preach a trial sermon, was he seized 
with something like stage fright. At the close of the open- 
ing anthem he rose, and, advancing to the front of the 
rostrum, stood facing the congregation. Opening the Bible 
on the stand before him, he, in a voice which he could with 
difficulty keep from trembling, read a short selection of 
Scripture, and then called upon “Brother Bright” to lead 
in prayer. 

In the quiet interval following the prayer, while the 
deacons were going noiselessly from pew to pew taking up 
the morning offering, the young minister tried to still his 
perturbed spirit, and to fix his thoughts on his sermon. He 
had not brought his manuscript to church — only a short 
outline of it ; and now as he glanced over this outline it 
seemed utterly meaningless, and his mind, so far as any 
memory of his carefully prepared sermon was concerned, 
was a complete blank. As the deacons, after depositing the 
offering upon the table, returned to their seats, and the 
young man realized that the moment had come for him to 
stand again before that expectant audience, he was certain 
of nothing but that he would make an ignominious failure. 
But he had yet a moment’s respite. The choir leader 
announced another hymn, and with a sigh of relief Philip 
sank back in his chair, and again tried to collect his 
thoughts. 

The hymn announced, “Welcome, Delightful Morn,” 
was one frequently sung by the little congregation at 
Merdin, Australia; and now as the familiar tones of the 
beautiful old song filled the room, a wave of recollection 
and of homesickness swept over Philip Bryce. He was no 
longer conscious of the waiting people before him. Time 
and distance seemed annihilated. In spirit he was a boy 
again in South Australia, and like pictures painted on a 


HIS FIRST APPEARANCE 


47 


screen there flashed across his mental vision a Sunday 
morning scene in the dear old home church — the white- 
haired old preacher; the congregation of familiar faces; 
his father and mother side by side in a front pew, and 
singing from the same book; his sister Helen at the little 
cabinet organ, with the other members of the choir ranged 
about her. As the congregation actually before him, but 
of wVom he was for the moment unconscious, reached the 
second part of the familiar tune, he heard’ again as in days 
gone by his sister’s full, sweet, bell-like voice leading the 
other sopranos in the beautiful strain: 


vi 

JJJ JhJT- M-t 

/ 

« -S' II 

X 4 • rj 3 3 ZS « 



' ' " ~ * 

! ! \ 0 g i. .41 




That vision of the old church acted as a stimulant, and 
at the same time it steadied Philip. He thought of his 
parents’ hopes ; of their confidence in him, and of their 
prayers for him. What to him by comparison were the 
thoughts and expectations of this congregation of strangers 
that he should be abashed before them? 

His whole being was in a neutral mood of equipoise 
when he came forward at the conclusion of the hymn. He 
read the seventeenth chapter of Exodus, telling how Aaron 
and Hur held up Moses’ hands as he raised on high the rod 



48 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


of God before the Israelitish hosts battling in the plains 
below against the Philistine armies. The sermon which 
followed was based upon this passage of Scripture, and 
his theme, “Co-operation of Preacher and People,” was 
well suited to the occasion. His full, resonant tones carried 
to the remotest parts of the room ; his manner was simple, 
forceful, magnetic; his address, brief, but clear and con- 
vincing. 

The new minister held the attention of every one pres- 
ent while he was preaching, and at the close of the service 
the congregation flocked around him to congratulate him 
on his sermon, to speak words of welcome, and to express 
a hope that he would feel at home and happy in their midst. 

“No moth-eaten thoughts in that sermon! no gallery 
play, either, and no striving for spectacular effect,” com- 
mented John Henson, as he walked down the street with 
Tom Slocum and Dr. Moreland after the morning service. 

“And better still,” was Ralph Moreland’s verdict, “there 
was no side-stepping into the flowery paths of poetical quo- 
tations.” 

“Yes, the gentleman from Australia appears to be all 
there when it comes to pulpit oratory. I think even those 
chronic old grumblers, Brer Foster and Brer Lane, couldn’t 
find much amiss with this morning’s sermon,” added Tom. 


PROBA TIONAR Y 


49 


CHAPTER VII. 

PROBATIONARY. 

And darest thou then 
To beard the lion in his den. 

The Douglas in his hall ?— Scott. 

At the suggestion of Peter Henson, who had learned 
that Mrs. Burgess and Miss Hogg were desirous of board- 
ing the new minister, Philip Bryce decided to take up his 
quarters at the hotel, instead of seeking accommodations 
in some private family. 

“My prophetic eye foresees that Ginseng Christian 
Church will shortly be again a flock without a shepherd,” 
remarked John Henson upon hearing of this arrange- 
ment; “for long before the expiration of his three months' 
novitiate, Sisters Jane and Randy will have talked him to 
death. Of course I’ve no legal right to interfere, but I 
hate to see this guileless young Australian, far from home 
and kindred, offered as a sacrifice upon the altar of village 
gossip, or done to death by vigorous tongues, as he surely 
will be if he finds lodgment in ‘Ginseng Hotel — for men 
only.' ” 

“And,” added Diana Henson, “even should he miracu- 
lously survive the incessant chatter and the officious med- 
dling of the hotel sisters, he’ll mortally offend them should 
he at the close of his three months’ trial change his board- 
ing-place. These two women who are now his staunch 
supporters will then become his vituperative enemies.” 

“Vituperation coming from such a source has no power 
to sting a sensible man,” said Peter Henson to his son 
and daughter ; “so let Miranda and Jane do their worst. 
Besides, the arrangement is already made for him to board 


50 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


at the hotel, and to alter the plan now would make the two 
sisters his enemies at the very outset of his career.” 

The favorable impression made by the new preacher 
that first Sunday grew and strengthened with each suc- 
ceeding week. Both old and young of the community were 
pleased with his preaching, and his work outside of the 
pulpit met with no less favor; for he possessed a pleasing 
personality, and the gift — rare in so young a man — of 
adaptability. At the close of the three months there was 
but one opinion about his suitability for the position, and 
he received a unanimous call for three years. 

Contrary to John Henson’s predictions, Philip Bryce 
for that first three months found his quarters at the hotel, 
if not congenial, at least comfortable. But shortly after 
accepting the three years’ call he was so unfortunate as to 
greatly offend his two hostesses, and in consequence he was 
obliged to change his boarding-place. As has been men- 
tioned, the hotel sisters were not on speaking terms with 
Miss Charity Bird, dressmaker, a rosy, brisk little maiden 
of some forty-odd summers, who lived in a tiny cottage 
adjoining the hotel, and separated therefrom by a small 
yard and a stout board fence. Until within a few years 
back there had been no fence between the two domains, 
and Miss Bird had lived in neighborly harmony with Jane 
and Miranda. Then trouble had arisen — the cause, a serious 
difference of opinion between Charity’s idolized cat, Tom, 
and the presiding genius of the hotel demesne, Jakey, a fat, 
blear-eyed old pug. Jakey’s favorite post of espial was the 
stile block in front of Miss Bird’s abode ; and although 
Thomas did not scruple to perambulate the hotel grounds 
at his own good pleasure, he resented what he chose to con- 
sider Jacob’s usurpation of the Bird stile block. Matters 
finally culminated in a sharp encounter, teeth and claws ; 
and Jakey was routed with great damage. 


PROBA TIONAR Y 


51 


Miranda and Jane demanded the instant execution of 
Thomas. Charity refused to immolate her darling upon 
the altar of justice. Nevertheless, she lost no time in carry- 
ing over to the hotel two olive branches consisting of a box 
of vaseline and a bottle of witch hazel for the relief of the 
sufferer. The sisters, however, met her on the threshold 
with such a storm of abusive epithets that she hastily 
decamped, leaving on the porch settle her box and bottle, 
which Miranda immediately hurled after her, thereby shat- 
tering some of Miss Bird’s window-lights, and utterly 
wrecking all neighborly feeling between the two domains. 
Early the next morning Charity had the shutters of those 
of her windows that looked out toward the hotel nailed up, 
and she likewise demanded the instant removal of that por- 
tion of the hotel clothes-line which projected into her yard 
and was fastened to her plum-tree. Miranda and her sister, 
not to be outdone in. civilities, erected the afore-mentioned 
tall board fence. Jakey finally recovered, although for 
weeks after the battle he presented a woeful spectacle as 
he sat in the broad front window of the hotel — his slit 
eyelid and torn ear done un in sticking-plaster and his fore- 
paw bound in splints. 

Learning of the unhappy state of affairs existing 
between the hotel and its adjoining cottage, Mr. Bryce 
deemed it his duty to bring about a reconciliation between 
these three members of his flock. Hence, with the best 
motives in the world, but with perhaps ill-advised zeal, he 
preached a discourse on Christian love and neighborly for- 
bearance, which was eminently practical in its nature, and 
in which, to use an expression of Tom Slocum’s, “he hit 
those two old cats at the hotel squarely between the eyes.” 

Charity Bird, who, be it said, had for some time greatly 
deplored the existing feud between herself and her nearest 
neighbors, and who had made more than one timid effort 


52 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


at reconciliation, took the lecture in good part. Miss Hogg 
and her sister might have borne in silence the sermon, 
although they thoroughly understood its application, had 
not the young man, with more zeal than discretion, fol- 
lowed up the discourse by a private remonstrance with Mrs. 
Jane and Miss Miranda. This was more than they could 
submit to, and after one extremely painful scene in which 
the two women spoke their mind in regard to what they 
were pleased to term the misguided young man’s “imper- 
dent meddlin’ with things whut warn’t no consarn uv hisn,” 
they informed him that henceforward his room would be 
considered better than his company, and that the sooner he 
moved his belongings, the better it would be for him. 

Banished from the hotel, Mr. Bryce found a pleasant 
refuge at “Elmarch,” the home of Mrs. Sarah Goodloe, 
whose only other boarder was Dr. Ralph Moreland 


“ARE YOU MR. BRIGHT ?” 


53 


CHAPTER VIII. 

“ARE YOU MR. BRIGHT?” 

What’s in a name? That which we call a rose, 

By any other name would smell as sweet. — Shakespeare. 

The only passenger to alight from the west-bound train 
at Ginseng Station one sultry afternoon in early September 
was a graceful young woman stylishly attired in gray, 
tailor-made traveling garb. As the train moved off she 
stood upon the dilapidated board platform and looked 
about her expectantly; but although the group of village 
loafers standing around the little station building eyed her 
with some curiosity, none of them appeared to have any 
but a passing interest in her arrival. She was about to 
make some inquiry of the station agent, when a tall, dark- 
haired, blue-spectacled man in light tweed suit and straw 
hat, and carrying a buggy whip in one hand, came into 
view from behind the station. After pausing a moment, 
and looking up and down the platform, he hesitatingly 
approached the girl. His manner betokened that he was 
looking for some one, and as he drew near, she timidly 
accosted him, “Beg pardon, sir, are you Mr. Bright?” 

“I am,” he answered, lifting his hat, bowing, and look- 
ing somewhat surprised ; “and are you — is — your — name — ” 
he began confusedly. 

“Marshall,” e:he interrupted quickly, to relieve his 
embarrassment, giving him as she spoke a surprised glance. 
“You are here to meet me, I presume,” she added inquir- 
ingly. 

“Why, yes — ah, certainly — that is to say — I — I—” he 
faltered. Then, recovering some measure of self-possession, 
he continued, “Will you be so kind as to wait here until I 


54 


THE MAN TROM AUSTRALIA 


can return for you ? My horse/’ he explained with a smile, 
“isn’t accustomed to the cars, and in order to prevent mis- 
chief I was obliged to unharness him, and secure him some 
distance in the rear of the station. But I shall not be long 
in returning.” Lifting his hat, he started off; then, turning 
back, with polite solicitude he suggested, “Perhaps you’d 
be more comfortable in the waiting-room ; it’s cooler there.” 

“But my trunk,” she began, as, after showing her into 
the waiting-room, and depositing her suitcase on a bench, 
he was quitting the room. 

“Ah, yes,” he answered ; “but perhaps you’d better . 
retain that” (referring to the baggage check she was hold- 
ing out to him) “for the present. I’m here in a buggy, and 
not prepared to carry your trunk, but I shall arrange to 
have it delivered you promptly.” 

From the grimy, iron-barred window of the bare little 
waiting-room, she watched him a few minutes later as he, 
in a shiny, rubber-tired buggy drawn by a glossy-coated, 
high-stepping bay horse, drew up at the rear platform of 
the station. 

He assisted her into the vehicle, and soon the dreary 
little village was left behind, and they were speeding along 
a smooth white turnpike bordered on either side by undu- 
lating fields and cool-looking woodland strips. 

Upon first starting, the restive horse required all his 
driver’s attention, and the girl had opportunity to give her 
companion a scrutinizing look. At the station she had been 
too bewildered and hurried to notice what manner of man 
he was — save that at first he had appeared singularly ill at 
ease. He had now removed the blue spectacles, and she 
was rather pleasantly surprised to find that Mr. Milton J. 
Bright was much younger and more debonair looking than 
her brief, business correspondence with him had led her to 
expect. When about half a mile had been traversed, and 


“ARE YOU MR. BRIGHT f” 


55 


the horse had quieted down into a steady gait, she ventured 
to accost her still silent companion. “How far have we to 
drive? I thought you lived in Ginseng?” 

“Ah! that,” he assured her, indicating the hamlet they 
had left behind them, “isn’t Ginseng, but Ginseng Station. 
Did you think we lived in that squalid little place? The 
real town is four miles from the railroad, and is a much 
older and a far more desirable town than that little station.” 

“Ah, I see !” she murmured. 

“You’ve been in service two years, I believe,” he 
tentatively remarked, after a pause; as he spoke, noting the 
blooming freshness of her cheek, the exquisite molding of 
her throat, and the sweet curve of her lips. 

“Yes, two years,” she replied, flushing, assuming her 
most rigidly dignified air, and deciding that Mr. Bright’s 
manners were by no means as prepossessing as his appear- 
ance. “ Tn service/ indeed ! as though I were a cook or a 
chambermaid,” she thought indignantly. “But perhaps,” 
was her more lenient afterthought, “this is merely a local 
mode of speech ; and, after all, a teacher is ‘in service.’ ” 

After another space of silence which was becoming 
embarrassing, she, remembering that in his last letter Mr. 
Bright had casually mentioned that his youngest child was 
ill, inquired with polite solicitude, “How is the baby?” 

“The baby! Which one? There are two of them — 
twins, you know.” 

“Oh, indeed ! I — I didn’t understand,” she faltered. 

“Ah! I beg pardon, I thought you understood there 
were twins.” 

.She made no reply, and he continued, in answer to her 
inquiry : “They’re at present enjoying robust health, I 
should think. At least, I can testify to the soundness of 
their lungs. They’re without exception the noisiest and the 
worst spoiled children I ever encountered.” 


56 ' 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


“What an unnatural father!” thought Miss Marshall in 
some dismay, deciding that, if other accommodations were 
available, Willow Brook Farm should not be her permanent 
abiding-place during her ten months’ stay in this part of 
the State. 

“I greatly fear, Miss, that the nature of your future 
duties hasn’t been made clear to you,” the man continued 
presently ; “and I am apprehensive that you will not find 
your new situation at all to your liking. Indeed, if you’ll 
pardon my plain speaking, I must say that a young worn — 
young lady of your prepossessing appearance and bearing 
is fitted for a higher position than that of nurse and care- 
taker to these troublesome Fletcher twins.” 

“Nurse! caretaker! Fletcher twins!” she exclaimed in a 
startled tone. “What can you mean, sir?” 

He checked his horse to a standstill, and regarded the 
girl with a bewildered look which she returned with one in 
which indignation and wonderment struggled for mastery. 

“I begin to suspect that either you or I have made some 
mistake,” he said gravely. “Will you be so kind as to tell 
me again who you are?” 

Her chin tilted up defiantly as she answered with all the 
dignity she could assume, “I’m Miss Marshall, as I told you 
at the station.” 

“Why — why,” he faltered in confusion, “I — I thought 
you Martha O’Mallory, the nursery maid engaged by Mrs. 
Fletcher for her two-year-old twin boys. Didn’t you say 
your name was Martha?” 

The insurgent pink rose in her cheeks as she made the 
hurt rejoinder, “Indeed, no ! I said Marshall.” 

“I — I beg your pardon. I — I thought you said Martha,” 
he stammered ruefully, so crestfallen that even the rose in 
his buttonhole had a wilted appearance. He gave the horse 
a sudden flick of the whip that started them off abruptly. 


"ARE YOU MR . BRIGHT f” 


57 


“Why! I don’t believe you’re Mr. Bright, either,” she 
ejaculated in alarm. 

“Begging your pardon,” he quickly answered, “Philip 
Bryce is my name,” producing a visiting-card whereon was 
engraved, “P. S. Bryce, Minister and handing it to her. 
“I’m preaching for the church at Ginseng, and I board with 
Mrs. Sarah Goodloe. Her niece, Mrs. Fletcher, who is 
spending the summer at Mrs. Goodloe’s, engaged this 
Martha O’Mallory to accompany her home to Macon, Ga., 
next week, as nurse to her children. This morning at the 
breakfast table Mrs. Fletcher was wondering how this girl 
could be brought over from the station, as the mail-wagon 
running between our town and the station doesn’^ meet the 
afternoon train. As I intended paying some calls in this 
vicinity this afternoon, I offered to bring the girl back with 
me. But I might have known at the first glance that you 
weren’t this nursegirl. Fm thoroughly ashamed of myself 
for making such a blunder.” 

The girl receiving diis apology in freezing silence, the 
man, in an effort to bridge over the awkwardness of the 
moment, went on : “So you are the Miss Marshall whose 
coming to take charge of our school has teen the chief 
topic of conversation among the children of the community 
for the last fortnight. But I had understood that you 
weren’t to arrive until to-morrow.” 

“No,” she replied, recovering her self-possession to 
some extent, but speaking in a tone anything but cordial, 
“I wrote Mr. Bright several days ago that I intended com- 
ing to-day. I can’t think why he wasn’t at the train to 
meet me.” 

“Perhaps your letter didn’t reach him promptly, or per- 
haps he was delayed on the way. However,” he continued 
deferentially, “I’m entirely at your service, Miss Marshall. 
I shall be delighted to drive you to Mr. Bright’s, or to do 


58 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


anything to atone in a measure for my stupidity in mis- 
taking your identity.” 

“What wonderful eyes she has! Gray? No, deep violet 
blue,” he thought, as the girl gave him a momentary look. 
“And such long, silky lashes !” was his next thought, as she 
lowered the “wonderful eyes.” 

“Thank you,” she said with ungracious stiffness. “I 
have no alternative but to accept your kind offer.” 

Just then there rounded a bend of the road a man in a 
surrey, driving toward them at a brisk speed. 

“There’s Mr. Bright now,” Mr. Bryce exclaimed. 

Opposite each other, both drivers drew rein. Mr. Bryce 
introduced Miss Marshall. Mr. Bright leaned out of the 
surrey, extended his hand to the young lady, and explained 
that his delay had been occasioned by some accident to the 
harness soon after leaving home. 

“You haven’t Miss Marshall’s trunks, I see, Brother 
Bryce,” he continued. “So, if you’ll drive her on to our 
house, I’ll proceed to the station for her luggage.” 

The baggage check was accordingly handed him, and 
he drove on. 

For awhile the couple in the buggy went on their way 
in silence — she brooding over her wrongs and nursing her 
hurt dignity ; he struggling against a desire to laugh — until 
she, glancing covertly at him and meeting his eyes, wherein 
was an expression in which solicitude, admiration and mirth 
were commingled, the absurdity of the situation dawned 
upon her. Her wounded sensibilities were forgotten ; she 
smiled, dimpled, and finally joined him in a merry laugh. 
Perhaps there is nothing which so speedily and completely 
breaks down the barriers of strangerhood between two 
people as a laugh together : and after once yielding to their 
inclination to merriment, the two young people felt at ease 
with each other. 


“ ARE YOU MR. BRIGHT f 


59 


“To think,” she smilingly exclaimed, “that I should live 
to be mistaken for an Irish nursegirl ! Especially, too, when 
I’d hoped to make so favorable a first impression upon Gin- 
seng society, and was flattering myself that in manners and 
attire I was strictly up to date.” 

“Do forgive me !” he humbly entreated, bending toward 
her with a beseeching look in his hazel eyes. “How could 
I have mistaken for a nursemaid a young lady so elegant, 
refined, charming and — ” pausing because he could think 
of no more adjectives to conquer. 

“Were it possible, Mr. Bryce,” she said laughingly, “I’d 
rise and make you my best curtsey for that gallant speech. 
But,” she continued in pretended scorn, “the idea of your 
taking me to be a ‘Martha O’Mallory’ !” 

“As you are strong, be merciful, Miss Marshall,” he 
pleaded in contrite tones, and with a deprecatory look. “I’m 
willing to do anything to show my penitence. You’ve only 
to say the word, and I’ll crawl out of the buggy, prostrate 
myself across the pike, and permit you to drive right over 
me. Shall I?” 

“I must take the will for the deed this time,” she 
demurely replied. “Being a stranger to this section of 
country, I have need of your services as a guide.” 

“You see,” he continued presently, “I had been asked to 
meet a girl named Martha; I understood you to say your 
name was Martha ; and as you were the only woman in 
sight, I naturally concluded you to be the one I was look- 
ing for.” 

“And,” she added, “when I asked, ‘Are you Mr. Bright?’ 
you thought I said Bryce ; hence the situation. Really, Mr. 
Bryce,” she continued with mock seriousness, but with a 
lurking smile that brought into play a charming little dimple 
in the rosy oval of her right cheek, “if you’ll pardon me for 
advising you, I think you should consult a specialist in 


60 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


regard to your hearing. Deafness is liable to grow on one, 
and it’s a terrible affliction.” 

“I need not only an ear specialist, but an eye specialist,” 
he gallantly made answer; “sight as well as hearing must 
be defective, else I should never have made the blunder of 
thinking you a nursemaid. But even to my dim vision you 
didn’t look the character. I took you to be a new order of 
nursemaid — a glorified, idealized specimen ; or else some 
princess slightly disguised.” 

“That sounds like a passage out of some old-fashioned 
fairy tale,” she commented severely. 

“Well, then,” he amended, “some brilliant society belle 
grown tired of ‘ranting ’round in pleasure’s ring,’ and seek- 
ing under the guise of working girl to — to — ” 

“And that, like the plot of an up-to-date problem novel,” 
she interpolated. 

“To be a blessing to her country,” he finished serenely. 

“I don’t know that I fancy being considered like the 
bewitched princess of some fairy story or — ” she began. 

“Not bewitched, only bewitching,” the foolish young- 
man interjected. 

“Or the silly heroine of a problem novel,” she went on, 
ignoring his interruption, “any better than I did being 
thought an Irish nursegirl.” 

“But what about your own mistake?” he retorted auda- 
ciously. “To think me a prosaic, middle-aged pater familias 
is a Roland for my Oliver, isn’t it?” 

She answered demurely. “In truth, you were far from 
realizing my idea of doting fatherhood when you spoke of 
those twins. ‘Even to my dim vision you didn’t look the 
character,’ ” she quoted mendaciously. “So I concluded you 
were a new order of pater familias, a stern- voiced, unjust, 
tyrannical specimen of the class.” 

He laughed heartily at her counterthrust, and said : 


“ ARE YOU MR. BRIGHT ?” 


61 


“After all, ‘it’s an ill wind that blows good to nobody/ and 
our blunders have already brought me the great pleasure of 
a drive with you. Later on, when you are surrounded by 
a large circle of admiring friends in this community, Miss 
Marshall, will you not allow priority of acquaintance to tip 
the scales in my favor ?” 

“As to that, I shall never under any circumstances 
undervalue the claims of the gallant, blue-spectacled knight 
who so promptly came to my rescue when I was stranded 
on that dismal railroad platform,” she replied. “By the 
way,” she continued as she looked at him, inquiringly, “I 
began to have some vague doubts of your being Mr. Bright, 
as soon as I saw you without those disguising lunettes.” 

In answer to her mute inquiry, he explained that when 
driving he sometimes wore the glasses* as a protection from 
the glare of sunlight on the white road; and that he had 
discarded them upon setting out from the station because, 
as the sun would be at their back during the homeward 
drive, he would not need them. 

“This is your academy,” he said after awhile, as they 
approached a frame building from whose roof a large flag 
mounted on a tall staff swung lazily in the breeze. “ ‘Still 
sits the schoolhouse by the road/ ” he quoted ; “but not ‘a 
ragged beggar sunning/ though ; but a substantial structure 
surmounted by the imposing flag of yo — our country, and 
environed by a grove of locust-trees.” 

“Why, I thought I was to take charge of a town 
school !” 

“So you are, although the town is a quarter of a mile 
farther on. Those who chose this site doubtless thought 
the ‘young idea’ would shoot better if the temple of learn- 
ing were ‘far from the madding crowd/ and it really is 
a pleasant arrangement, suiting both town and country 
patrons.” 


62 


THE MAH FROM AUSTRALIA 


“And there,” he said presently, “is Mr. Bright’s place, 
‘The Willows’ or ‘Willow Brook Farm.’ ” 

Half hidden by trees and shrubbery was a white house 
with red chimneys, green shutters, and many gables. The 
yard extending in front to the road sloped on either side 
to a ravine at the bottom of which could be dimly seen 
through its border of willows a little, glinting stream which, 
after winding between the whitewashed farm buildings in 
the rear of the house, came into view again on the other 
side, and emptied into a larger stream crossing the pike 
farther on. Between the yard and the schoolhouse were a 
woodland pasture and a cornfield, and on the other side of 
the yard, between it and the creek, was a big apple orchard. 
As a background to the scene was a dim line of forest. 

“I think you’ll find Willow Brook Farm a delightful 
home, Miss Marshall,” Mr. Bryce said heartily as they were 
drawing near the house. “Like the academy, it combines 
the advantages of both village and country. That creek 
ahead of us marks the town limits. That’s Ginseng just 
beyond,” pointing, as he spoke, to where through the trees 
-could be discerned a church steeple, numerous chimney- 
tops, and the roofs of several houses. 


WILLOW BROOK FARM 


63 


CHAPTER IX. 

WILLOW BROOK FARM. 

As they stopped at the stile-block, a large brown collie 
and an excitable little black pup rushed forward to investi- 
gate the new arrivals ; and, recognizing in Mr. Bryce a 
beloved friend, they clamored about him in eager welcome. 
Quieting their transports as best he could, the young man 
assisted Miss Marshall from the buggy, as Mrs. Bright, 
tying in the voluminous folds of her blue calico Mother 
Hubbard with a white apron, came hastening down the 
walk. 

“Very happy to make your acquaintance, Miss Mar- 
shall, ” exclaimed Mrs. Bright, extending her hand to the 
girl in hearty welcome as Mr. Bryce made the necessary 
introductions. “Hitch, and walk right in, Brother Bryce,” 
she added, as she led Miss Marshall up the broad rock walk. 

“Warm weather for September, ain’t it?” she continued. 
“Must be one of the ‘dog days’ stolen from August. Sit 
right here in the porch, my dear, and cool yourself,” push- 
ing forward for the stranger’s benefit a low rocker, reliev- 
ing her of hat and parasol, and handing her a palm-leaf 
fan. 

Having hitched his horse, Mr. Bryce entered the wide, 
breezy, vine-shaded porch. Crossing to one side, he was 
about to seat himself in an arm-chair from whose cushioned 
depths he had ejected an enormous, glossy-coated gray cat 
with an abbreviated caudal appendage, but his hostess 
handed him another chair, and said: “Better take this seat, 
Brother Bryce; Ichabod seems to have pre-empted that 
arm-chair, and if you take it, he’ll be sure to jump into 
your lap, and cover you with hairs, for he’s shedding.” 


64 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


Mr. Bryce hastily took the proffered seat, and Mrs. 
Bright continued: “But where’s Mr. Bright? He started 
for the station two hours ago.” 

“He was delayed on the way,” answered Mr. Bryce, 
“and as I happened to be at the station, I was so fortunate 
as to secure Miss Marshall’s company for the d^ive back. 
We met Mr. Bright on the road, but he very kindly waived 
his claims in recognition of my prior rights, and drove on 
to the station for Miss Marshall’s luggage.” 

“I’m real glad you happened to be at the station,” said 
Mrs. Bright. “Miss Marshall would have formed a gloomy 
first impression of the community if she’d had to wait long 
at that detestable little railroad village. Had you a pleasant 
journey, Miss Marshall? When did you leave home?” etc., 
etc. 

The young lady made satisfactory replies to these polite 
inquiries, and her hostess then turned to Mr. Bryce. “How’s 
Mrs. Goodloe, Brother Bryce? And why don’t she ever 
come over to see us? She wasn’t at last ladies’ aid meet- 
ing, either. I hope she ain’t sick?” 

“She’s in good health, I believe, although she finds this 
warm weather rather trying; and, too, she’s had a great 
deal of company this summer, you know,” was the reply. 

“That’s true,” assented Mrs. Bright. “I s’pose her niece 
is still at Elmarch? When does she think of going back to 
Georgia ?” 

“Yes, Mrs. Fletcher’s still with us ; but she expects to 
return home next week, I understand.” 

“Has that nurse for the twins come yet?” was Mrs. 
Bright’s next query. “I heard Mrs. Fletcher’d hired one — 
an Irish girl from somewheres back in Ohio.” 

The young man flushed and glanced hastily at Miss 
Marshall as he answered, “Shfe hasn’t come yet, but Mrs. 
Fletcher is expecting her.” 


WILLOW BROOK FARM 


65 


The young couple were spared further discussion of 
the embarrassing topic, for just then there came full tilt 
around the corner of the house a startling equipage con- 
sisting of an immense tree root with numerous gnarled 
rootlets branching out from the main stem, and surmounted 
hy a wooden box. Hitched to this vehicle, which looked 
like an enormous spider, was a tawny-haired, freckled-faced 
little girl with a checked sunbonnet hanging down her back. 
She wore a soiled pink calico, whose abbreviated length 
afforded the display of two fat, sunburnt legs and a pair 
of bare, dusty feet. Her companion in harness was a curly- 
lieaded boy of about three years, clad in nankeen pants and 
a long-sleeved apron-. He, too, was barefooted and had a 
sunbonnet stringing down his back. Catching sight of 
visitors on the porch, the two prancing steeds took fright, 
turned and fled precipitately, dragging overturned vehicle, 
and spilling out of the box a choice collection of rag 
dolls, kittens, broken bits of china, toy cooking-stove, doll’s 
bedstead, and a tin bucket containing jam biscuits and the 
battered remains of a pie. 

“An enterprising couple conveying their Lares and Pen- 
ates to some remote settlement on the other side of the 
yard,” observed Philip, gravely. “It’s too bad the proces- 
sion came to grief.” 

“It’s Puggie and Buddy, my two youngest,” laughingly 
explained Mrs. Bright, turning to the new teacher. “That 
old root was grubbed up last spring out of the woods pas- 
ture, and ever since it’s been the favorite plaything of the 
youngsters. It’s an unsightly object, but I really believe 
they’d rather have it than the finest doll wagon.” 

“What did you say were the children’s names?” here 
inquired Miss Marshall. 

“Margaret is the girl’s real name,” answered the mother, 
“but she’s such a fat, dumpy little girlie that her nickname, 


66 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


Puggie, suits her better. The boy’s name is Robert Graham 
— after the preacher, you know — but it might just as well 
have been ‘Norvall on the Grampian Hills’ or Melchizedek 
or Nebuchadnezzar, for all he ever gets of his name. I 
declare,” she continued, laughiftg with easy good nature, “if 
they weren’t written down in the Bible, I believe I’d actually 
forget the rightful names of my own children. This is a 
great family for nicknames. Even our dogs and cats have 
them. Doc’s right name” (indicating the collie who was 
dozing at Mr. Bryce’s feet) “is Ralph, after Dr. Moreland. 
That mischievous puppy was christened Carlo ; and our 
yellow cat, Becky; so why the children call the pup Toby, 
and the cat Brindle, the dear only knows. That gray cat 
yonder was named Tiger, until he got his tail cut off in a 
steel trap; then pa dubbed him Ichabod, because ‘his glory 
hath departed ;’ and Ichabod we’ve called him ever since.” 

None of the children seemed eager to form their new 
teacher’s acquaintance; at least, not one came forward to 
welcome her, although at intervals she caught glimpses 
from around the corner of the house, or from the shelter 
of the doorway at her back, of what appeared to her a per- 
fect medley of children of all sizes and ages. “How many 
children have you, Mrs. Bright?” was Miss Marshall’s very 
natural inquiry. 

“Only six,” was the reply. “I hope you didn’t think all 
those youngsters who’ve been lurking around ever since 
you came, trying to get sight of you, belong to me. Four 
or five of them are the Fowler and Clay boys who’ve come 
over to see Alec, and two more are Nettie and Lucy Bates, 
neighbors and playmates of my Polly and Susie. Neither 
my own nor those other kids are generally very bashful 
about coming forward; but, I s’pose, they’re not dressed 
to receive strangers, this evening ; so they’re keeping in the 
background. 


WILLOW BROOK FARM 


67 


“If you and Brother Bryce will excuse me, I’ll leave 
you to entertain each other while I ’tend to some matters 
in the house,” she added, presently. 

After her departure the two endeavored to converse on 
various topics but the overheard scraps of conversation, 
presumably upon the young lady’s appearance, made by the 
group of children within the house, rendered this difficult. 

“Ain’t she a jim dandy!” “She’s got a long gold watch 
chain!” “My! don’t she look stylish?” “Ain’t her hands 
white!” were some of the remarks from the unseen critics. 

Although pleased that her appearance was approved by 
her future pupils, their fire of comment was embarrassing 
to her, and rendered more embarrassing by her certainty 
that Mr. Bryce could hear all that was said — as an appre- 
ciative twinkle of his eyes indicated. 

The situation was relieved by the reappearance of the 
lady of the house, bearing a pitcher of new-made cider and 
a plate of delicious jumbles. 

Soon after partaking of these refreshments, Mr. Bryce, 
after expressing a hope that Miss Marshall would find her 
stay in Ginseng pleasant, and asking that he might soon 
have the pleasure of seeing her again, bade both women 
adieu. 

“Come again, real soon, Brother Bryce,” his hostess 
urged heartily, as she shook his hand. “You know you’re 
always sure of a welcome, and I want you to feel that this 
place is just like home to you.” 

“Ain’t he nice?” she asked, turning to Miss Marshall as 
Mr. Bryce drove away. “I don’t know when my husband 
and I ever were more drawn to any one than to that young 
fellow.” 

“Has Mr. Bryce been preaching for you for some 
time?” asked the young lady. 

“Only since last May, but we hope to keep him several 


68 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


years. He’s an Australian, and hasn’t been in this country 
more than four or five years. One or two of the members 
of the church here have had their feelings ruffled because 
he has seen fit to preach a little too pointedly against some 
of their pet sins. But, aside from that, he’s universally 
beloved. He’s splendid in the pulpit, and he’s so pleasant 
with every one. When he first came, he took board at the 
hotel ; and when he left there, he wanted to come here, for 
he said this seemed more like home to him than any house 
he’d been in since he came to America. I wish we could 
have taken him, but we had no suitable room. He has now 
found a very pleasant boarding-place at Elmarch with Mrs. 
Goodloe. Dr. Moreland boards there, too; so he has con- 
genial company.” 

After a time, their own visitors having gone, Ann Eliza- 
beth or Cissy Bright, a shy, thin- faced girl of fourteen, and 
Alec or, to give him his full title, Alexander Campbell 
Bright, aged twelve, appeared on the veranda ; and their 
mother, having some domestic cares demanding her atten- 
tion, left them to entertain Miss Marshall. But Cissy and 
Alec had little to say for themselves, and conversation was 
anything but brisk until Polly (Mary Louise), Susan and 
Puggie, who shared neither their elder sister’s bashful- 
ness nor their brother’s momentary lack of conversational 
resource, joined the group. 

Having confidingly acquainted the young lady with the 
principal details of domestic and neighborhood affairs, the 
three artless little girls began to catechize her. “Did she 
paint her cheeks?” “Did she use curl papers or crimping- 
irons to frizz her hair?” “Did she sleep in gloves to make 
her hands so soft and white?” “How old was she?” “What 
did her watch cost ?” “What number shoes did she wear ?” 
were a few of their ingenuous queries. 

Alexander presently took his turn as interviewer, and 


WILLOW BROOK FARM 


69 


began to question the new teacher on educational matters. 
“Did she use a key in teaching arithmetic like Miss Eunice 
had done?” “Could she read Latin right off or did she 
use an Interlinear, as Miss Shanklin had done?” “Did she 
believe in whipping?” et cetera, et cetera. 

Cissy’s timid efforts to restrain the curiosity of her 
brother and sisters were in vain, and the examination con- 
tinued until, Mr. Bright having returned from the station 
with the young lady’s luggage, Mrs. Bright appeared in the 
doorway and suggested that Cissy take Miss Marshall to 
her room to rest until supper-time. 

There was no hall to the house, and the door from the 
veranda opened directly into an immense room some twenty 
feet square, furnished as a parlor, with horse-hair chairs 
and sofas, a marble-top table, a “whatnot,” a well-filled 
bookcase and a square piano. From one corner of this 
room was an enclosed stairway up which the stranger fol- 
lowed her conductress to another large room. Crossing 
this, she was ushered into one of the two smaller apart- 
ments opening therefrom. 

“This is your room, Miss Marshall,” said Ann Eliza- 
beth; “but ma says you can, if you’d rather, just use it 
as a dressing-room, and sleep in the big room with us girls. 
This little old room ain’t big enough to swing a cat in,” she 
added contemptuously. “Pa’s going to build a fine, new- 
fashioned house like Mr. Henson’s, some of these days.” 

Like the immortal “Mr. Dick,” Miss Marshall didn’t 
want to swing a cat, and she thought this room, small 
though it was, infinitely preferable to the big room with 
the four girls as her companions. 

Soon the tinkle of a bell summoned to the supper-room, 
and presently all were seated around a typical Kentucky 
tea-table. Fried chicken, hot biscuits, batter cakes, roasted 
potatoes, sliced tomatoes, butter, honey, pickles and pre- 


70 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRAL/ A 


serves, with coffee, sweet milk, buttermilk and cider, formed 
the first course, followed by a dessert of cake and ice-cream. 

Supper over, Mr. Bright and Miss Marshall took seats 
upon the front porch, with Puggie and Buddy upon their 
father’s knees. While talking with her host, the stranger 
took in the lovely moonlit scene: Majestic oaks, tall maples, 
clumps of shrubbery; a flower space fenced off with wire 
netting and filled with geraniums, pinks, verbenas and 
portulaca ; the willow-bordered ravine at one side, the 
whitewashed fence; and, in front, the smooth, white turn- 
pike. The occasional barking of a dog, the weird cry of 
peafowls roosting in the willow-trees in the ravine, and the 
clatter now and then of some horse and vehicle crossing 
the bridge spanning the creek not far distant, were the only 
sounds to disturb the peaceful stillness. 

Presently there came stumbling up to the porch a 
decrepit old negro, tottering and bent nearly double under 
the weight of a big stick of wood across his shoulders. As 
the negro mounted the steps, Mr. Bright accosted him. 
“Why, Uncle Charley, where are you taking that wood ?” 

“I’s a-totin’ in a nice backlog for Miss Nancy’s fire, 
suh. It’s gwintah be a tur’ble cold night ; dah’s snow in 
de air, suh.” 

Without attempting any argument, Mr. Bright said: 
“Take that log back to the woodpile, Uncle Charley, and 
go to bed. Miss Nancy doesn’t need any wood to-night.” 

The old negro obediently departed with his backlog. 
Mr. Bright and Miss Marshall laughed heartily at the idea 
of “snow in the air” while the thermometer registered 
nearly seventy degrees ; and Mr. Bright said, “Uncle Char- 
ley’s ideas of time as well as of temperature are consider- 
ably confused to-night ; for it’s been fully ten years since 
I substituted grates for our old fireplaces, and since we 
began to use coal instead of wood.” 


WILLOW BROOK FARM 


71 


He went on to explain to the young lady that the old 
darkey was subject to occasional crazy spells, due, it was 
thought, to a kick on the head from a mule, years before. 
“Some folks,” said Mr. Bright, “advise us to send him to 
an asylum, but he’s perfectly harmless; and it would break 
his heart to leave this place where he has lived all his life. 
Besides, if we were to send him away, his wife, Aunt Cas- 
sie, would go too; and she’s my wife’s right hand, and the 
best cook we ever had. When the old fellow isn’t in one 
of his spells he’s the sharpest old darkey I ever knew. He 
has a grim sense of humor, too, and I sometimes suspect 
his crazy fits are partly assumed, just for the sake of having 
some fun at our expense. At any rate, he furnishes us a 
good deal of amusement by his vagaries, though he is a 
bother at times.” 

The rest of the family soon joined the group on the 
porch, and after another half-hour all adjourned to the 
parlor. Puggie and Buddy, who had gone to sleep in their 
father’s arms, were placed on the sofas ; and the rest gath- 
ered around the center table. A Bible was handed each 
one. A short selection of Scripture was read, each person 
taking a verse in turn. Then the mother went to the piano, 
and played a familiar hymn which all joined in singing. 
Mrs. Bright was not an accomplished musician, but she 
played the hymn with feeling, and added a tolerable alto 
to the air which Miss Marshall and the children carried; 
while Mr. Bright contributed a mixed part, sometimes like 
soprano, sometimes like tenor, and sometimes a part which 
must be called bass, merely because it wasn’t anything else. 
After the hymn Mr. Bright offered a prayer. Then “good 
nights” were exchanged, and all sought their several sleep- 
ing apartments. 


72 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


CHAPTER X. 

A KINSMAN OF “THE GREAT PACIFICATOR.” 

While the family were at breakfast next morning, Elihu 
Clay, a tall, hatchet- faced man with shrewd eyes, wide, thin- 
lipped mouth, red hair, and a fringe of sandy chin whiskers, 
appeared at the back door of the dining-room. Refusing a 
proffered chair and Mr. and Mrs. Bright’s invitation to join 
them at breakfast, he seated himself in the doorway, and 
tossed his hat on the porch floor. 

Mr. Clay was Ginseng’s postmaster, who lived across 
the fields from Willow Brook Farm. He explained that he 
had “jes’ dropped in a minit” on his way to the office, to 
see the new teacher. 

“How’re your folks, Mr. Clay?” asked Mrs. Bright, 
after introducing the caller to the young lady. 

“All’s well but the baby. He’s teethin’ and cross as a 
bear. Rett is wore out, worryin’ with him, and tryin’ to 
git the boys’ waists and things ready fur school Monday.” 

The caller gave Miss Marshall a scrutinizing look as he 
took a twist of tobacco from his pocket and bit off a 
generous portion. He then turned to Mr. Bright and said 
bluntly: “Well, Milt, judgin’ by appearances, your adver- 
tisement scheme has panned out fine. Rett, she alius said 
she believed you got together all the scrawniest, sallerest 
teachers in Kentucky, stood ’em up in a row, and picked out 
the ugliest of the lot; but Miss Marshall’s a big improve- 
ment on your Miss Eunices, Miss Shanklins, and the whole 
kit and b’ilin’ of our former schoolmarms. Are you any kin 
to Humphrey and Tom Marshall, young lady?” he inquired 
with another searching look at the girl. 

Blushing at the implied compliment to her good looks, 


“ THE GREAT PACIFICATOR ” 


73 


she replied, “Not to my knowledge, sir; but I really know 
very little about my relationship.” 

“That’s a pity,” observed Mr. Clay. “We Kentuckians 
don’t pay enough attention to relationships. Good blood’s 
everything. Where wuz you born?” 

“In Mason County.” 

“Then, I’ll bet you’re kin to Humphrey and Tom. They 
had lots of kin ’round Maysville and Washington, and 
there’s a look about you that reminds me of Humphrey’s 
picture. Who wuz your mother ?” 

“A Miss Logan.” 

“Ah, young lady, you’ve some of the best blood of this 
country in your veins. No matter whut branch of the 
fam’ly tree you belong to, you can’t miss it, if you’re a 
Logan. There’s a host of them, but they’re all kin, and fine 
stock, too — old F. F. V.” 

He stepped to the edge of the porch, ejected from his 
mouth a quantity of tobacco juice, then returned to his posi- 
tion in the doorway, and said: “There’s my wife, now. 
She’s a Morris, related to the famous Pennsylvanny Mor- 
rises, and traces her fam’ly back to Edmund the Second or 
Edmund Ironside, king of England, whose daughter in 
1009 A. D. married an ap-Morris, ancestor in direct line 
to my wife’s people. Rett’s got it all down in a little book 
she prizes next to her Bible. Now, I’m kin to Henry Clay,” 
he said, drawing himself up proudly, “and some folks tell 
me I look like him. But be that as it may, my Robert cer- 
tainly inherits his wonderful speakin’ talent frum this great 
kinsman. That boy’s a born orator, Bright,” he declared, 
turning to his host, “and, if I ain’t mistaken, he’ll some day 
make his mark as a speaker.” 

“If he isn’t hanged first,” ejaculated Mr. Bright, sotto 
voce. 

Mr. Clay, not hearing this comment, continued: “You 


74 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


ought to hear him speak ‘Battle of Hohenlinden,’ Miss 
Marshall. I’ll swannie! when he says that part, 'Wave, 
M unnick, all thy banners wave; and charge with all thy 
cavalry!’ it fairly makes your hair raise.” 

Having finished breakfast, the children were excused 
from table, and left the room. Mr. and Mrs. Bright and 
Miss Marshall, however, still remained seated, and Mr. 
Clay again addressed the young lady. “I hope,” said he, 
“you pay due attention to grammar and elocution, Miss. 
’Cordin’ to my notions, they’re the most important branches 
in the school corricklum. History and g’ography are well 
enough in their way, of course ; so’s a reasonable amount of 
physiology — ’though we don’t send our children to school to 
make practicin’ physicians of ’em. As for mathematics, any 
boy or gal can soon pick up a sufficiency of that for all 
ordinary purposes ; and I’ve alius noticed that if a feller’s 
a real fine mathematician, he’s generally a born fool in all 
other respects. There’s algebry, now, with its x’s, y’s and 
z’s, and roots — all tomfoolery! Bookkeepin’ and higher 
'rithmetic ain’t much better, either ; but spellin’ and readin’ 
and grammar and elocution show the finished scholar ; so I 
want you to drill my boys well in them branches.” 

“What modes of punishment do you use, Miss Mar- 
shall?” was the postmaster’s next query. “Do you favor 
keepin’ in, standin’ on the floor or corpo-r^-al punishment ?” 

She hardly knew how to reply; but she finally said she 
did not confine herself to one mode, but she thought whip- 
ping, if practiced at all, should be the last resort. 

“That sounds mighty fine,” her inquisitor commented, 
“but experience with my own shavers has l’arnt me that a 
good hickory limb, well laid on, is the best way to move a 
boy. It loosens up the hide and makes him grow, too. It’s 
old-timey, I know, but it’s more effectin’ than any of that 
new-fangled stuff about kindness and persuasion. Now, 


“ THE GREA T PACIFICA TOR ” 75 ' 

Bright here, he’s a good Campbellite (beg pardon, Milt, I 
should ’a’ said ‘Christian’ or ‘Disciple’), but I tell him he 
can’t reasonably renounce the good old Calvin doctrines of 
predestination, total depravity, and the rest of the ‘Five 
P’ints,’ as long as there’s such boys in the world as his Alec 
and my Robert and Edmund. They’re living examples of 
"original sin’ and ‘actual transgression,’ and it’s their teach- 
er’s duty to see that the old Adam (or the old Nick) is 
thrashed out of ’em, eh, Milt?” 

“Yes,” laughingly admitted Mr. Bright, “moral suasion 
doesn’t seem to reach the case of the average boy.” 

“You’re right about that,” said the caller. “One dose 
of good hickory’s wuth a dozen bottles of moral suasion ; 
and I know there ain’t nothin’ fetches my boys to time like 
the tickle of a keen switch. So remember, Miss Marshall, 

I want you to tan them two shavers good whenever they 
desarve it, and I’ll follow up every whippin’ you give ’em 
with another as soon’s they git home.” 

After a short silence the visitor resumed his catechism 
of the new teacher by observing, “I reckon, Miss, your 
church affileration is the same as Mr. and Mrs. Bright’s — 
else he wouldn’t ’a’ been so keen about hirin’ you fur our 
school.” 

The girl modestly asserted that she was a member of 
the Christian Church. 

Mr. Clay continued : “Oh, I’ve no fault to find with you 
on that score. I claim to be a sort of half-brother to that 
church myself, on account of Mrs. Clay’s bein’ a member.” 

“Our church would be glad to welcome you into full 
brotherhood, I’m sure, Mr. Clay,” exclaimed Nancy Bright, 
cordially, “if you could see your way clear to uniting with 
us.” 

“Well, I must confess,” replied the postmaster, “that 
sermon on ‘Church Union’ your new parson preached a 


76 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


month or so back, tickled me mightily; and a leetle talk I 
had with him soon after that come nigh fetchin’ me into the 
fold. Havin’ been sprinkled as a infant, you know, and 
havin’ been brought up to think that was baptism enough, 
I alius balked at your doctrine of emersion. But, Bryce, he 
intermated that the form of baptism didn’t count for so 
much, and that baptism itself, as well as obedience to some 
other of the old-time requirements, wasn’t nowadays con- 
sidered so essential as it used to be. I gethered, too, frum 
whut he said that the church had been layin’ too great stress 
on a lit’ral interpretation of a good many Scriptures, such 
as miracles and Old Testament prophecies, and sich like ; 
and that the church frum now on would be more lib’ral- 
minded on a good many p’ints.” 

Mrs. Bright gave her husband an uneasy glance, but 
held her peace. 

Mr. Bright said gravely, “You must have misunder- 
stood Brother Bryce, Clay.” 

“Maybe I did, maybe I did,” acknowledged Elihu, good- 
naturedly, seeing that Milton Bright was disturbed. “Least- 
ways, my wife says I must have done so. Still, it does 
appear to me that Bryce ain’t nigh so strenuous on a good 
many things as you and Henson and a few others are.” 

Milton Bright, who, whatever his own misgivings might 
be as to his minister’s orthodoxy, was too loyal to him to 
discuss the matter with an outsider, said : “Brother Bryce is 
young, you must remember, Elihu ; and it may be that he 
now and then in conversation expresses himself in a way 
that is a little puzzling, but when put to the test he will, I 
trust, be found perfectly sound in the faith and orthodox in 
all his views.” 

“Certainly, certainly!” replied Mr. Clay, rising to go. 
“So far’s I’m consarned, I think the young feller’s all right. 
Moreover, he’s all right with his church-members, too — all 


THE GREAT PACIFICATOR" 


77 


< < 


’cept ’Randy Hogg and her sister. I hear they’ve got their 
backs up considerable ag’inst him; but if I understand the 
matter correct, their objections to him are personal, not doc- 
trinal, hey, Milt?” 

Bright answered: “Their objections have nothing to do 
with the doctrines Brother Bryce preaches. Besides, in the 
matter they hold against him he is altogether right and they 
wrong.” 

Mr. Clay, consulting his watch, said: “I must be 
moseyin’ on toward the office; it’s time I was makin’ up 
the mornin’ mail. Miss Marshall,” he continued, passing 
around the table to where she sat, and shaking her hand, 
“I’m real glad to have met you, and I reckon you’ll git 
along fust-rate with the school. Now, don’t count visits 
with Mrs. Clay, for she’s a mighty busy woman, and has a 
right smart to look after ; but be sociable and come over to 
see us whenever you can. Mrs. Bright,” shaking her hand, 
“you must come, and you too, Milt ; and let the childurn run 
over whenever they’re a mind to. We’re alius glad to see 
any of your folks. Good mawnin’!” 

“Well, my dear,” Nancy Bright smilingly observed when 
the visitor had gone, “I don’t think you need fear the ques- 
tions that the board of examiners may ask you to-morrow, 
considering the satisfactory way in which you answered 
Elihu Clay’s catechism — to say nothing of the questions 
Polly and Susie and Puggie and Alec put to you yesterday.” 

Mr. Bright, whose face had worn an expression of 
unwonted concern since Mr. Clay’s talk about Mr. Bryce, 
now shook off his troubled thoughts, and spoke smilingly. 
“Yes, Miss Marshall, from what I can learn, I believe there 
isn’t much in your history, habits or tastes that those kids 
of mine didn’t investigate. They’re a team ! A Yankee 
lawyer isn’t in it with them, when it comes to asking ques- 
tions. Like Mark Twain’s man, each one of them seems to 


78 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


have been born with an interrogation point in his or her 
mouth. I tell Miss Nancy she’s too easy on them, but she 
has her own notions as to how they should be managed.” 

“Oh, well,” said his wife, easily, “don’t worry. Let 
nature take its course. The children will learn better man- 
ners as they grow older.” 

Katharine Marshall was not long an inmate of the 
Bright family until she discovered that the expression, “Let 
nature take its course,” was a favorite precept of Mrs. 
Bright’s, and that it formed ample excuse with her for 
many little irregularities in maternal discipline, and covered 
many defects in her system of child-training. 

After breakfast Polly, Susie, Puggie and Buddy took 
the young lady in charge, and did the honors of the 
premises for her benefit. They were accompanied by Aunt 
Cassie’s granddaughter and assistant in the culinary depart- 
ment, whom the erratic fancy of her parents had endowed 
with the name “Ivory” — although “Ebony” would have 
been a far more appropriate prenomen. Miss Marshall’s 
trunk was still unpacked ; and she knew, too, that it 
Behooved her to spend much of the day in freshening up 
on geography, physiology, etc., and in delving into history 
after forgotten dates — in preparation for the teacher’s 
examination on the morrow ; but there was no escaping the 
persistent overtures of the children. She therefore resigned 
herself into their keeping, and the cavalcade set out on a 
tour of inspection, preceded by the two dogs and followed 
by a host of chickens. Alexander soon joined them, and 
from that time on he took the part of chief cicerone. 


M/SS MARSHALL RECEIVES 


79 


CHAPTER XI. 

MISS MARSHALL RECEIVES. 

Early Sunday morning a note of preparation was 
sounded throughout the Willow Brook household, and all 
was hurry and commotion until Mr. Bright and the chil- 
dren were in the surrey, and started for Sunday-school. 
An hour later Mrs. Bright and Miss Marshall set forth in 
the buggy, and reached the old red brick meeting-house 
during the singing of the opening church anthem. 

The interior of the building was arranged according to 
old-fashioned custom — with the pulpit between the two 
front doors, and the pews facing them — an arrangement 
which, while doubtless possessing some advantages for 
minister and prompt attendants, was embarrassing to late 
comers, and especially disconcerting to one who was not 
only diffident and sensitive, but a stranger to the com- 
munity. It was, therefore, a trying ordeal for Katharine 
Marshall that Sunday morning to walk up the aisle in Mrs. 
Bright’s wake, feeling as she did that the eyes of the entire 
congregation were fixed upon her. Having reached the 
shelter of the pew, however, she had leisure while the 
second hymn was being sung to regain serenity, and even 
in a sedate way to take some note of her surroundings. 

Expecting to see only unknown faces, it was with a 
thrill of pleasurable surprise that she recognized a piquant 
brunette beauty and a dapper young gentleman, seated side 
by side in the choir, as Diana and John Henson, whom she 
had met at several social functions the winter before while 
she was spending the Christmas holidays with a former 
schoolmate in Lexington, and Diana and her brother were 
also visitors in that city. 


80 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


Between a stately, white-haired dame and a languid, 
stylishly dressed younger matron in the pew immediately 
in front of the Brights’ pew were two restless, fretful, 
white-robed, blue-sashed little boys so absurdly alike as to 
size, features, curls, dress and naughty behavior that Miss 
Marshall felt they must be the Fletcher twins. Her 
thoughts naturally turned to her gallant escort of the 
Thursday of her arrival. He was partly screened from her 
view by the tall pulpit behind which he was ensconced 
beside a handsome, portly man of clerical appearance, who, 
at the conclusion of the song service and Scripture read- 
ing, was introduced to the audience by Mr. Bryce as “Our 
beloved Brother Elton, who will address us this morning 
upon the important theme, Kentucky Missions.” 

Among the first of those who came forward at the 
close of the service to welcome Miss Marshall were Diana 
and John Henson. From her first meeting with them 
Katharine had felt a cordial liking for the bright, warm- 
hearted girl and her merry, care-free younger brother; and 
now she heartily echoed their expressions of pleasure at 
renewing the acquaintance. 

That afternoon Mr. and Mrs. Bright, accompanied by 
little Buddy, went to see a sick neighbor, and Alexander 
set forth to visit the Clay boys. Mary Louise and Susan 
had gone home from church that morning with the Bates 
children. Willow Brook, therefore, was left in charge of 
Ann Elizabeth, little Margaret and Miss Marshall. The 
young lady betook herself to her room to write letters. 
She had written but a few lines when little Margaret ran 
in exclaiming excitedly : “Miss Marshall, please huwwy an’ 
come down. Miss Di an’ Mistah John Henson an’ Mistah 
Bwoadus are in the pawlah, an’ Doctah Mowlan’ an’ Buv- 
veh Bwyce are gettin’ out uv a buggy at the stiles. I’ll 
he’p you get weady,” she continued, obligingly. “Please 


MISS MARSHALL RECEIVES 


81 


put on that wuffley white dwess I seen you hang up in the 
closet when you took the things out uv your trunk the 
othah day.” 

With what speed she could, retarded as she was by the 
little girl’s incessant chatter and well-meant but clumsy 
efforts as lady’s maid, Katharine rearranged her hair into 
a more becoming coiffure, exchanged her muslin wrapper 
for the “wuffley white dwess,” and hastened downstairs, 
accompanied by Puggie. 

After Ralph Moreland and Shelburn Broadus had been 
presented, Misses Henson and Marshall seated themselves 
on the sofa, and Dr. Moreland and Messrs. Broadus and 
Bryce took chairs facing them. 

At some distance from this group Mr. Henson, with 
little Puggie in close attendance, seated himself beside the 
bashful and blushing Miss Bright, and endeavored to 
engage her in conversation. The young man had a 
resourceful mind and a ready tongue, and had he not been 
so oppressed by the close proximity and embarrassing 
attentions of the artless Puggie, he would, no doubt, in 
time, and with the aid of some stereoscopic views of the 
World’s Fair, which, fortunately for him, were on the little 
table at his elbow, have succeeded in eliciting from Cissy 
in reply to his comments on the pictures some more elabo- 
rate and satisfactory expression of opinion than a mur- 
mured “Yes, sir,” or “I believe so,” or “Very pretty, sir!” 
Puggie, who had seen the pictures so often that she was 
blase of their beauties, leaned upon John’s shoulder, fon- 
dled his hand, and made an exhaustive study of his 
diamond shirt stud, opal cuff-buttons, gold fob, enameled 
watch, and his Marechal Neil boutonniere. 

Meanwhile, Mr. Broadus opened conversation in the 
group across the way by addressing to Katharine the stock 
question he invariably put to newcomers in the neighbor- 


82 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


hood: “Is this your first visit to this part of Kentucky, 
Miss Marshall?” 

“Yes, sir, my first visit.” 

“Your home is in Kenton County, is it not?” he con- 
tinued before any of the others could interpose. 

“Yes, sir, I live in Covington.” 

“Are you a native of that city?” he next inquired, with 
an air and tone so like those of a reporter interviewing a 
prospective “Write-up” that the young lady, although not 
aware of his connection with the Jupiter, half expected 
him to draw forth notebook and pencil to jot down her 
answers. 

Before she could reply, Ralph Moreland came to her 
rescue. “A strictly non-committal policy is your only safe- 
guard, Miss Marshall, against appearing in next Thurs- 
day’s Jupiter 

She looked somewhat bewildered at this, and Philip 
Bryce explained, “Mr. Broadus is the editor of our enter- 
prising weekly, the Filson County Jupiter, Miss Marshall.” 

Mr. Broadus, nothing daunted, pursued his investiga- 
tions by asking the stranger how Filson County compared 
in her estimation with other sections of the State she had 
visited. 

She answered enthusiastically that from what she had 
seen of this part of Kentucky, it seemed to her quite as 
beautiful as Fayette or Woodford or any other of the blue- 
grass counties. 

“My- dear Miss Marshall,” laughingly ejaculated Mis? 
Henson, “don’t you know that this is the very heart of the 
blue-grass region?” 

“Is it, indeed!” exclaimed Katharine. 

“And so is Kenton County, is it not, Miss Marshall?” 
asked Ralph Moreland. 

“Why, certainly,” was the demure reply. “Did you 


MISS MARSHALL RECEIVES 


83 


ever meet a Kentuckian who didn’t claim to live in the 
blue-grass section?” 

“As regards your county, I’ve no doubt the claim is 
well founded,” said Dr. Moreland, politely. 

“And as regards Filson, too,” added Diana, determined 
to uphold the excellence of her native county against all 
insinuations. “Don’t you think so, Mr. Bryce?” 

“The celebrated blue-grass country is of much greater 
extent than a stranger to this State would suppose,” 
returned Philip with diplomatic evasion. 

“Our geographies, however, do not so class either Ken- 
ton or Filson County,” remarked Shelburn Broadus, who 
was disposed to take everything in its literal sense. 

“That, I’m persuaded, is the fault of the geographies, 
not of the two counties,” remarked Miss Marshall, a flicker 
of a smile curving her lips as she looked at Diana. 

“To be sure it is !” warmly assented Diana. “And what- 
ever the geographies may say to the contrary, no other 
section of the State can boast of more healthful climate 
than old Filson County can, or more beautiful scenery or 
finer grass.” 

“ ‘All flesh is as grass,’ ” spake John Henson, saunter- 
ing across the room. The stereoscopic views as a topic of 
conversation having at last become exhausted, Cissy had 
excused herself from the room on some pretext, and John, 
followed by Puggie, joined the group of five just in time 
to catch his sister’s two concluding words. He was 
unaware of the topic under discussion, and likewise totally 
indifferent as to whether his remark was apposite or not, 
so long as it offered him a chance of joining the conver- 
sation. 

“But all flesh isn’t blue-grass, is it, Mr. Bryce?” asked 
Miss Henson. 

“Why, no,” he rejoined in a tone of deliberation as 


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THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


though the subject were one demanding grave consider- 
ation. “Some people, I should think, would come under 
the head of the less beautiful but as useful orchard grass. 
Others are like timothy; and still others — those who live in 
low-lying regions — might be likened to swamp grass/’ 

“There’s a considerable sprinkling of the millet, crab 
and buffalo grasses, too, I should say,” commented More- 
land. 

“While you ladies,” added Broadus, directing an ingra- 
tiating smile to the occupants of the sofa, “certainly rank 
as ornamental grasses.” 

“There’s a goose-grass variety,” murmured Diana, 
ungratefully. 

“Editors should, I think, be classed as Parnassus grass,” 
suavely declared Miss Marshall, in return for the editor’s 
compliment. 

“Some folks might see in tongue grass the prototype 
of the preacher class, don’t you think so, Bryce?” remarked 
John, audaciously ; as he spoke, laying a hand upon the 
young minister’s shoulder, and smiling innocently. 

“Perhaps so,” assented Philip, imperturbably ; “and 
others, I suspect, might be inclined to class disciples of 
Blackstone as fox grass,” he said, smiling back at John, 
who, be it understood, was pursuing, in the intervals of his 
social obligations and his duties as assistant bookkeeper in 
the flourishing milling business of “Peter Henson and 
Son,” a desultory course of law reading with the view of 
some day being admitted to the Filson County bar. 

“Oh, go to grass!” ejaculated John with undisturbed 
good nature. 

“Perhaps it would be well for us to heed the warning. 
'Keep off the grass !’ ” suggested Diana. 

“What’s Miss Mawshall, Buvvah Bwyce?” asked Pug- 
gie, sidling up to Mr. Bryce, leaning against his knee, 


MISS MARSHALL RECEIVES 


85 


nestling her curly head upon his arm, and looking up into 
his face with deep interest. 

Thinking that the discussion had grown rather too per- 
sonal, as well as too frivolous to be altogether in accord 
with good taste, he would have acted upon Diana’s hint to 
change the subject; but he knew too well the child’s per- 
sistency to hope that she would allow her question to 
remain altogether ignored. He therefore said suggestively, 
'‘There’s a dainty and beautiful variety called ‘blue-eyed 
.grass,’ isn't there, Mr. Broadus?” 

“Yes; otherwise known to scientists as ‘Sysyrinchium 
Bermudian,’ ” replied the editor, didactically. 

“And what am I, Buvvah Bwyce?” persisted Puggie, 
bent on eliciting as much botanical information as possible. 

“You, Puggie? Why, you’re a dear little grasshopper,” 
Philip answered, giving the child’s rosy cheek a playful 
pinch. 

Little Margaret, once started upon this instructive sub- 
ject, had no notion of being sidetracked until every member 
of the circle had been duly classified, but fortunately at this 
moment the barking of the dogs out in the yard heralded 
a new arrival. 

Glancing through the window, and seeing a woman get- 
ting out of a phaeton at the front stile, Ralph Moreland 
excused himself and hurried to her assistance. 

As the doctor quitted the room, Mr. Henson, after 
taking a survey from the window, turned to the others and 
announced : “Here comes the adorable Miss Stump, look- 
ing as though she had a big cargo of philosophy aboard. 
So, remember, no words of less than four syllables.” 

All rose as the doctor ushered in the newcomer. John, 
donning his sweetest smile, was the first to greet her. 
'‘Delighted to see you, Miss Ruby. We were just wishing 
for you.” 


86 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


Miss Ruby Stump was tall, of slender build, had long, 
well-cared-for hands and shapely, small feet. Her fair 
skin was the rendezvous of innumerable tiny wrinkles, but 
her cheeks and lips glowed with so roseate a hue that a 
stranger would be puzzled as to whether she were a young- 
looking old maid or an old-looking young maid, until he 
observed her hair. That settled the matter. At the roots 
it was snow white, then it gradually darkened, until at 
about half an inch from the scalp it settled into an even, 
metallic brown. The beautiful regularity of her white 
teeth, together with a habit she had of every now and then 
sucking in her lips and emitting a slight clicking sound, 
might have led one to suppose them false, had not Miss 
Stump frequently lamented suffering so much from tooth- 
ache that she feared she must have her front teeth 
extracted. 

Mr. Bryce pushed forward a comfortable chair for 
Miss Stump, and as soon as she was seated she said to 
him: “It’s a pleasant surprise to find you here, Brother 
Bryce. I understood that you never made Sunday after- 
noon calls, except those of an official nature.” 

He flushed sensitively, but replied lightly: “Might not 
this visit come under the head of an official call?” 

John added: “Brother Bryce is strictly in the line of his 
ministerial duties this afternoon, Miss Ruby. Miss Mar- 
shall is a prospective parishioner, who should of course be 
looked after. Besides, he had to come, anyway, to see that 
Di and Moreland and Broadus conducted themselves with 
due Sabbatical sobriety.” 

“We were engaged in a botanical discussion, Miss 
Ruby, when you came,” said Diana, wishing to lead the 
talk into an impersonal channel. 

“Botany is a charming recreation, I’m quite sure,” Miss 
Stump answered ; “and I regret that my devotion to higher 


MISS MARSHALL RECEIVES 


87 


forms of study leaves me but little time to devote to these 
lighter subjects.” 

“Ah, yes, ‘higher forms’ ! You mean astronomy, don’t 
you, Miss Ruby?” Mr. Henson guilelessly inquired. 

“Oh, no, I didn’t mean astronomy, Mr. John,” replied 
the lady with gracious condescension, “although that is, of 
course, a useful and elevating study. I referred to sub- 
jects less strictly scientific and more purely literary.” 

“Miss Stump has actually written a novel, Miss Mar- 
shall,” Diana exclaimed with artless enthusiasm. 

“Miss Stump writes very fine poetry, too, I’ve heard,” 
added Ralph Moreland. “By the way, Broadus,” he con- 
tinued, a ghost of a smile hovering about his mouth, “you 
should try to persuade Miss P_uby to favor the Jupiter with 
some of her choice productions.” 

The editor, who, as the doctor well knew, had for 
months past skillfully evaded Miss Stump’s efforts to get 
her poetic lucubrations into the columns of his paper, now 
answered hurriedly, rising as he spoke: “I’m, of course, 
always delighted to receive any contributions that will add 
to the interest of the Jupiter; and at some future time, 
Miss Stump, I shall be glad to discuss this matter with 
you; but I must be going now, as I have an important 
engagement that demands my immediate return to the vil- 
lage.” 

When Broadus had gone, Ruby turned to the others 
and said: “I’ve just finished a third perusal of Buckle’s 
‘History of Civilization.’ Such a delightfully invigorating 
and learned work, is it not?” 

“It is indeed!” exclaimed John Henson, with as much 
enthusiasm as if the book in question had for years been 
one of his most intimate friends. 

“Do you not, too, agree with me, Doctor?” she went 
on, smiling benignly upon him. 


88 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


“Your opinions, my dear lady, upon all literary subjects 
are highly to be commended,” he rejoined in his most 
suave manner. 

The others, perhaps ashamed of their ignorance or their 
lack of literary perception, held their peace, and Ruby 
resumed: “What is your opinion of ‘Robert Elsmere,’ Miss 
Marshall? Isn’t it a powerful piece of fiction?” 

Katharine modestly made answer that when she had 
read the book she had been too young to judge of its 
merits, and that in any case she was by no means a com- 
petent critic of such matters; but that she remembered that 
when “Robert Elsmere” had first appeared, it had created 
quite a sensation in the reading world, and that even such 
high authorities as Gladstone, Edward Everett Hale and 
Julia Ward Howe had reviewed it. 

“Isn’t the book rather atheistical in its tendencies?” 
asked Diana. 

“Oh, no,” said Miss Ruby with an air of superior wis- 
dom. “To a mere surface reader, the book might seem 
slightly tinged with atheistic thought, but to one who is 
accustomed to penetrate to an author’s deeper meaning, 
‘Robert Elsmere’ is quite free from atheistical or harmful 
tendencies. What do you say, Brother Bryce? But per- 
haps you don’t approve of discussing works of fiction upon 
Sunday.” 

Mr. Bryce uttered an evasive disclaimer to the effect 
that fiction, in its broad sense, included the highest and 
best in literature. There followed an interesting discus- 
sion, in which all took part, as to what really constituted 
fiction. 

When the topic had been discussed at some length, Miss 
Stump, determined to keep the conversation up to its pres- 
ent high standard, and perhaps seeing a tendency on the 
part of some of the company to lapse into frivolity, said, 


MISS MARSHALL RECEIVES 


89 


“By the way, in my reading yesterday I came across a 
startling discovery.” 

“What was your discovery?” Miss Henson politely 
asked. 

“A new theory in regard to Shakespeare. I came across 
the article in the Forum — only a mere reference, but I 
gleaned therefrom that recent discoveries had led critics to 
claim that Lord Bacon was the author of those immortal 
plays which until now have always been accredited to 
Shakespeare. I was so excited that I couldn’t sleep last 
night. I’ve always been intensely fond of Shakespeare — 
have regarded him as the greatest luminary in the literary 
firmament — and now, to think that at this late day doubts 
have arisen about him !” 

“Pore old Billy!” feelingly murmured the irrepressible 
John Henson. 

Serenely unconscious that “Shakespeare versus Lord 
Bacon” had for at least a quarter of a century been a 
hackneyed subject of argument in young ladies’ boarding- 
school literary societies and in young men’s debating clubs, 
Ruby turned to Katharine and said: “As it’s so recent a 
discovery, Miss Marshall, perhaps you may not yet have 
seen it. But mark my words, all of you, it will soon make 
a fine stir among scholars.” 

Katharine, her eyes fixed upon her hands lying in her 
lap, demurely said that she would post herself upon the 
subject at once. 

“Say! let’s get up a party to go to the woods to gather 
chestnuts/’ was Henson’s hurried and, to Miss Ruby, 
apparently irrelevant suggestion at this moment. 

There is no telling what other new (?) discoveries 
Miss Stump might have extracted from her rich store of 
up-to-date (?) literary knowledge, for the benefit of her 
listeners, had not Miss Henson, after consulting her watch, 


90 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


exclaimed: “We must be going, John! We’ve made an 
unconscionably long call.” 

Acting upon his hint, the other callers likewise soon " 
took their departure, and Miss Marshall again betook 
herself to her letter-writing, until Mr. and Mrs. Bright 
returned, and it was time to set out for the evening service 
at church. 


OF A PEDAGOGICAL NATURE 


91 


CHAPTER XII. 

OF A PEDAGOGICAL NATURE. 

Upon Monday morning a number of neighboring chil- 
dren called by Willow Brook Farm, and shortly before 
eight o’clock Miss Marshall, attended by the four oldest 
Bright children and a few others of the more polite of her 
future pupils, escorted likewise by a vanguard of frolic- 
some small boys and a rear guard of shy little girls, made 
her way to the schoolhouse. 

Her two years’ experience as teacher had been acquired 
in one of the well-graded, well-equipped Covington schools. 
This September morning, therefore, when, after having 
reached the scene of her future labors, and having enrolled 
the forty-odd boys and girls who were in attendance, she 
began trying to classify them, she was appalled at the mag- 
nitude of the work she had undertaken. The Ginseng 
school army was made up of all sorts and conditions of 
scholastic soldiers, from the raw recruits of the chart 
infantry to the courageous, self-confident brigade of half- 
grown lads and lassies who, if one judged by the number 
and character of the text-book weapons they carried, were 
ambitious of conquering in that term a classical education. 

The new principal found the work expected of her to 
be of such overwhelming extent and of such confusing 
variety that she well-nigh despaired of being able to cope 
with it. Visions of nervous prostration and even of brain 
softening floated before her mind; and she was only with- 
held from resigning her position at once by the thought 
that in relinquishing her former stronghold — Grade F in 
Covington Grammar School No. 3 — she had, so to speak, 
burned her bridges behind her, and that consequently it 


92 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


was now Ginseng Seminary or no school at all that year. 
By the close of the third day, however, she had reduced 
the chaotic array of multifarious and multitudinous classes 
to something like system ; and, in her more optimistic 
moments, she even entertained a faint hope that she might 
be able after a time, by a rigid economy of every moment 
of the six hours’ daily school session, and by utilizing also 
the long noon intermission and the short forenoon and 
afternoon recesses,, to manage tolerably well. 

It is a popular belief that no one can do well and thor- 
oughly two or more things at the same time. To prove the 
falsity of such a belief one has only to undertake the work 
in one of our large, ungraded country schools, where, 
besides the many divisions and subdivisions of the gram- 
mar-school course, many of the pupils desire higher mathe- 
matics, clamor for Latin, yearn after rhetoric and literature 
— to say nothing of such light frivolities as bookkeeping, 
general history, and even elocution and drawing. A very 
conservative estimate of the tasks expected of a teacher in 
such a school shows at least thirty-five recitations which 
must be crowded into each day’s work. If the teacher of 
such a school decline to undertake this herculean labor, 
and insist instead that the course of instruction shall be 
limited to the recognized ten branches of the common- 
school course, she is liable to be looked upon as an incom- 
petent who dares not undertake the higher branches 
because of her own ignorance of them. She thus loses 
prestige, not only with her patrons and pupils, but with 
the community at large. 

Whatever its meagerness of resource in other respects. 
Ginseng Academy was fortunately well equipped with 
blackboard space; so that after the first fortnight of ago- 
nized effort and much expenditure of brain force, Miss 
Marshall contrived that her pupils in “Higher English” 


OF A PEDAGOGICAL NATURE 


93 


should diagram their complicated sentences upon the mid- 
dle division of the long blackboard, while, at their right, the 
class in advanced arithmetic solved problems in compound 
interest, cube root, or mensuration ; and while the pupils in 
algebra, who occupied the left-hand section, coquetted with 
the capricious but fascinating x, y and z, and wandered 
through the delightful mazes of binominals, radicals, surds 
and vinculums. While the three divisions at the board were 
thus engaged, the commanding officer would marshal the 
troops comprising the primer or reader or primary geog- 
raphy battalion upon the front*bench, to proceed with what 
speed they could with their recitation, sidetracked, as they 
frequently were, to afford higher English or advanced 
arithmetic or algebra a hearing. 

During this time of stress and trial, Miss Marshall like- 
wise ascertained that it is possible, during a noon inter- 
mission, to set copies, eat lunch, correct exercises, keep an 
eye on the “kept-in” pupils, supervise the children on the 
playground, and to hear a recitation in Latin Grammar — 
all at the same time. It furnished a strong proof of Kate 
Marshall’s sweetness of disposition, stoutness of purpose 
and enthusiasm for the work-, that her pupils did not often 
in the course of that session encounter a teacher with her 
temper on the strike, and with every nerve in her body on 
the warpath. 

This description of Ginseng Academy is no overdrawn 
picture of any one of those ungraded rural schools which, 
until within recent years, were scattered throughout the 
land, but which are now gradually giving place to thor- 
oughly systematized graded schools, each with a teaching 
force adequate to cope with the number and variety of 
branches to be taught. Hence, the problem that most 
frequently confronts the public-school teacher of to-day is 
not as to how she can in her daily six hours’ schoolroom 


94 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


labors perform the functions of primary teacher, grammar- 
school preceptor, high-school instructor and university pro- 
fessor, but as to how she can prevent her life from being 
so bounded on the north by monthly reports to superin- 
tendent and patrons, on the south by monthly examinations 
of pupils, east by daily making out of class averages, west 
by nightly corrections of class exercises, northeast by 
books on pedagogy, southeast by books on psychology, 
northwest by “Common School Law,” and southwest by 
teachers’ institutes, summer normal school, and “Teachers’ 
Reading Circle,” that she has little opportunity to exercise 
her own individuality or to develop that of her pupils. 

Toward the end of November the school enrollment 
was increased by almost a score of larger boys, who had, 
until then, been detained from their studies by the exigen- 
cies of fall wheat-sowing and corn-gathering ; and Ruth 
Vanarsdale, a quiet, earnest, lovable girl of twenty-three, 
came to the relief of Miss Marshall by taking charge of the 
primary and a part of the intermediate grades. Ruth was 
inexperienced, but, like her principal, she was an enthusi- 
astic, energetic young woman, and in a short while she 
proved a thoroughly efficient aid to Katharine. Under 
their united efforts the school reached a degree of pros- 
perity higher than it had attained in any previous term, 
and both principal and assistant won golden opinions from 
all who were interested in the progress of education in that 
community. 

Miss Marshall each day grew more pleased with her 
Filson County environment and her homelike life with the 
family at Willow Brook Farm. She likewise daily grew in 
favor with both the old and the young of the community. 


THE LADIES ’ AID 


95 


CHAPTER XIII. 

THE LADIES' AID. 

At the September meeting of the ladies’ aid “society an 
order had been received for thirty-five yards of striped rag 
carpet. As all recognized Mrs. Nancy Bright’s efficiency in 
this particular branch of industry, to her was assigned the 
task of coloring, sorting and cutting the material donated 
by the other members ; and at the October meeting, which 
was to be held at Willow Brook Farm, the ladies were to 
tack these rags into pound balls, ready for the weaving. 
Accordingly, during the first week of October, Mrs. Bright, 
assisted by Charity Bird, who kindly came over to help 
her, was deep in the mysteries of logwood and diamond 
dyes. The next week was devoted to sorting and cutting. 
For this work Cissy as well as Miss Charity was pressed 
into service, and Miss Marohall also kindly volunteered her 
services after school hours. 

The energetic Mrs. Bright next turned her attention to 
preparations for entertaining the society. It numbered but 
twenty-odd members ; but to Katharine, who, being city 
bred, had much to learn concerning the lavish hospitality 
of these country people, it seemed that the quantities of 
cakes, pies and transparent puddings prepared were suf- 
ficient to furnish a regiment in dyspepsia. One might sup- 
pose, too, she thought, that the premises were about to 
undergo Governmental inspection. Windows were washed, 
porch floors scrubbed, the furniture in every room was 
given a fresh coat of varnish, the hearths in sitting-room 
and parlor were brightened with a dazzling new coat made 
of a mixture of Venetian red and buttermilk, and every 
closet and cupboard was redd up ; “for,” as Cissy explained 


96 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


to her teacher, “Mrs. Fowler and Miss Randy Hogg and 
Mrs. Burgess will be prying into every corner and crevice 
to see if they can’t find some dirt.” 

No less vigorous were the outdoor preparations, under 
the self-appointed directorship of Uncle Charley. Spurred 
on by the*. old negro’s caustic tongue, Alec gave the hen- 
house and yard fence a new coat of whitewash; and Polly 
and Susan Bright and the negro girl, Ivory, with Puggie’s 
and Buddy’s erratic but well-meant assistance, swept the 
back yard, raked the dead leaves from the front lawn, and 
cut the grass from the interstices of the rock pavement — 
Uncle Charley meanwhile frequently declaring, “Nary lick 
o’ wuck would dat rumbustical Alec an’ dem bawdacious 
gals do, ef dis heah ole niggah v/uzn’t at thah heels the 
whole endurin’ time to keep ’em at it.” 

By nine o’clock Saturday morning all was in readiness, 
and Nancy Bright, beaming with hospitality, hurried to the 
stiles to meet the first arrivals, Mrs. Fowler and Miss Hogg 
— Mrs. Burgess having remained at home to attend to the 
boarders. 

The other members 01 the society soon arrived. Mrs. 
Goodloe, the president, called the meeting to order; the 
official part of the program was speedily dispatched; the 
ladies next turned their attention to more practical matters, 
and soon needles and tongues were equally busy in the little 
sewing circle. 

“Why hain’t Zereldy an’ Di Henson here?” asked Mrs. 
Clark, winding up a ball she had just completed. “They 
don’t often miss a meetin’.” 

“They have company from Louisville — Professor 
Spence, Captain Evans and Mr. Sylvester,” Mrs. Goodloe 
replied. 

“Deary me! Now, whut air they aftah a-visitin’ at 
Hensons at this time?” again asked Sister Clark, as she 


THE LADIES’ AID 


97 


spoke peering at Mrs. Goodloe over her steel-rimmed spec- 
tacles. 

“I shouldn’t be surprised if it had something to do with 
getting the new railroad through,” said another sister. 

Mrs. Goodloe at this moment was beckoned from the 
room to consult with Mrs. Bright about some domestic 
matter, and Mrs. Mason answered, “Oh, no, I don’t think 
they came on any business, but merely for a day’s hunting.” 

“Huntin’? Yo’ granny’s hind foot!” spoke up Miss 
Hogg. “ Pro fes sah Spence may come fuh that — though to 
my mind he’s too old to go a- friskin’ ’round the woods 
with a gun on his shouldah — but Tom Evans an’ young 
Sylvestah hain’t a-seekin’ no game but whut they kin find 
in Hensons’ pariah. It’s Diany they’re aftah.” 

“It’ll be a marcy when that flirtatious miss gits mar- 
ried,” said Mrs. Fowler, as she energetically bit off the end 
of her thread. “Of course, ’tain’t no business uv mine,” 
she went on with a virtuous air, “but, seein’ as she’s their 
only gal, it would seem like Pete an’ Zereldy needn’t be in 
sich a sweat about gittin’ her off ; but they air ; an’, as fur 
Zereldy, she’ll shorely bust a hame-string if Diany hain’t 
married soon.” 

“ ’Twon’t be for want of asking, if Di don’t marry; 
she’s more beaux than any other girl in the county,” 
remarked Charity Bird. 

Mrs. Fowler’s only notice of this remark was a toss of 
her head, and a look which seemed to say that she knew 
better than that. 

Charity continued : “What’ll Ralph Moreland say, I 
wonder, about these Louisville beaux? He’s heels over 
head in love with Di, and is fairly eaten up with jealousy, 
as those dark-complected men always are whenever another 
beau pays attention to his sweetheart.” 

“You’re quite mistaken in this instance. Sister Charity,” 


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THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


eagerly averred Ruby Stump. “Dr. Moreland means noth- 
ing more by his attentions to Diana than pleasant civility. 
He’s too grave and cultured to be seriously attracted by any 
feather-brained girl. He wants a wife nearer his own age 
— some one with dignity, and who possesses tastes con- 
genial to his own.” 

“Miss Ruby no doubt thinks that she herself would be 
a more congenial mate for the doctor,” whispered Della 
Mason to Ruth Vanarsdale and Katharine Marshall, who 
with Della were seated apart from the others, quietly tack- 
ing their carpet rags, and taking no part in the conversa- 
tion of their elders. 

“How about Shelburn Broadus, Ruby?” mischievously 
inquired Della’s mother. “Isn’t he rather partial to Diana?” 

“Far from it,” retorted Ruby, flushing warmly. “I 
know his real aspirations too well to believe that,” and 
she smiled self-consciously. 

“Well, it does seem’s though we might find somethin’ to 
talk about besides beaux an’ courtin’ an’ marryin’,” Randy 
Hogg said. “As fuh me, thah hain’t the man livin’ nor 
dead I’d marry. ’Pears to me, they air more trouble to 
the least puppus uv anything in creation, ’ceptin’, mayby, 
flies an’ bedbugs.. They air a slippery, no-’count lot, the 
whole male sect, I think; an’ I don’t keer who knows it.” 

“Folks that get their living by keeping men boarders 
ought to have a better opinion of the sex,” commented 
Charity to Ruby. 

Miss Hogg’s sharp ears heard the remark. She twitched 
her shoulder contemptuously in Charity’s direction, and 
said to the others, “Boardin’ hain’t marryin’, by a long 
jump, as anybody with a ounce uv sense would know. 
But,” she went on, with a venomous glance that included 
Ruby as well as Charity, “some maiden females I could 
name is alius on the anxious-bench as regards matrimony; 


THE LADIES’ AID 


99 


an' it’s gittin’ to be ‘O Lord, anybody!’ with ’em, too.” 

Here Mrs. Goodloe, who had recently returned to the 
room, averted a possible disaster by requesting Miss Stump 
to weigh the balls. 

While this was being done, Mrs. Lane said: “I was 
mighty shocked to hear about pore Sarah Jane Keene. I 
didn’t even know she’d been sick till we passed the motion 
to resolute on her death.” 

“Nor did I, or I should have tried to get over to see 
her,” said Mrs. Goodloe. “What was her complaint?” 

Julia Fowler answered: “Peritonitus or some sich like 
kite’s tale uv a name is whut Moreland called it; but you 
all know whut he is for givin’ high-falutin’ names to dis- 
eases — ’specially them he can’t cure. But let him call Sarey 
Jane’s complaint peritonitus or perity fooley, or whut he 
will, she died uv nothin’ more or less than inflermation uv 
the inner intestines uv the bowels. I hepped nuss her; so 
I reckon I oughtah know. A more depicted pore creetah 
than she wuz, I nevah seen. She warn’t sick a week, but 
by the time she died she wuz wore to skin an’ bone, an’ as 
yallah as a Chinyman.” 

“Poor, poor thing, how she must have suffered!” was 
the sympathetic ejaculation of some of the sisters. 

“Yes,” continued Sister Fowler, “she suffered the most 
incruciatin’ agonies all endurin’ her illness. At the last, 
seein’ she wuz bound to die, Dr. Moreland he said all the 
medicines knowed to Esculapy hisse’f couldn’t save her; 
an’ that all that could be did wuz to pallerate her sufferin’s 
with anerines ; so he give her a hyppodrumic uv morphine, 
an’ she went off in a stoopah.” 

Having delivered this display of medical erudition, Julia 
Fowler went on complacently rocking herself and sewing 
diligently. Rarely did any one venture to combat Mrs. 
Fowler’s opinions, and, in this instance, no one attempted 


100 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


a reply. Old Sister Clark, who had lost the latter part of 
the conversation, sat peacefully nodding in her chair by a 
window. Mrs. Mason shoved her rocker back out of Mrs. 
Fowler’s range of vision, and tried to stifle a laugh. Ruby 
Stump, muttering something about the excessive warmth 
of the room, stepped to the front door, opened it, and stood 
there a moment with her back to the company. The three 
young girls, Ruth, Della and Kate, not daring to glance at 
one another, bent their heads over their sewing, and strug- 
gled to keep straight faces. 

Mrs. Goodloe hastened to start a fresh topic. “I’m so 
glad,” said she, “to see Tom and Nell and Pearl Slocum 
attending our church so regularly of late. They may join 
us yet; and if they do, perhaps Mrs. Slocum will come, 
too.” 

“Don’t think it !” exclaimed Charity Bird. “They’re too 
deeply dyed in the wool of Baptist doctrine for that.” 

“Pshaw !” rejoined Mrs. Lane, good-naturedly. “What 
does Tom Slocum or his sisters know about church doc- 
trines ?” 

‘Mr. Foster says he always has a low opinion of 
folks that change their politics or their religion,” remarked 
Mrs. Foster. “He thinks it shows a lack of stamina to do 
so. Not, however, but what I’d be glad, and so would Mr. 
Foster, to have the Slocums join our church. They’d make 
real good members.” 

“It’s my belief,” spake Randy Hogg, “that it’s a sneakin’ 
fondness fuh thet finicky, giddy, worldly-minded preachah 
uv ourn, instid uv consarn about their souls, whut fetches 
Pearl an’ Nell so frequent to our church uv late. While 
old Brothah Keslon wuz preachin’ fuh us they hardly evah 
darkened the doors uv our meetin’-house ; but every Sun- 
day, rain or shine, they hiked therselves ovah to Durritt 
to attend the Baptis’ Church there;- but now Ginseng 


THE LADIES' AID 


101 


Christian Church seems plenty good ’nough fur them/’ 

“But you must remember, Sister Randy,” interposed 
Mrs. Mason, “that while Brother Keslon was preaching for 
us, the Slocums lived on their farm, and had a number of 
horses at their command, but that now, having moved into 
town, it isn’t always convenient for them to get a horse to 
drive.” 

“Well, whutevah be Nell and Pearl’s reasons fur cornin’ 
to our church so often nowadays,” spake Madame Fowler, 
“I must say I agree with you, Randy, about our new 
preachah bein’ worldly minded. Why, half the time he 
don’t say brothah an’ sistah to his own membahs, but jest 
calls ’em Mistah or Missis or Miss So-and-so, like any 
othah fellah would do. An’, besides, he spends too much 
time, frum all I can l’arn, gaddin’ ’roun’ with the young 
folks.” 

Mesdames Goodloe, Mason, Lane and Foster, who held 
their young minister in warm respect, exchanged glances, 
and the outspoken Mrs. Mason said remonstratingly : “But 
Brother Bryce is young himself, Sister Julia, and, of course, 
he finds the society of other young people congenial ; and it 
is right that he should.” 

“No mattah if he is young,” retorted Mrs. Fowler; “a 
preachah, be he old or young, hain’t no business to be led 
away into the pastimes uv othah folks. He should be sober- 
minded an’ godly an’ meek. But Brothah Bryce, he even 
visits the gals on Sunday evenin’s. Leastways, that is whut 
I’ve hearn.” 

“I presume Mr. Bryce never has paid the bewitching 
Miss ‘Daut’ Fowler a Sunday afternoon call. Otherwise, 
we should now be hearing quite a different opinion of him 
from her adoring mamma,” observed Ruth to Kate and 
Della, in a tone so low as to be inaudible to those in the 
other part of the room. 


102 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


“Wuss still,” chimed in Randy in reply to Mrs. Fowler's 
criticism, and, as she spoke, casting a meaning look toward 
the corner where Miss Marshall sat, “that Sunday Brothah 
Elton preached fuh us, last Septembah, that young man 
wuz so ill-mannered as to leave him all alone the whole 
Sunday evenin’, an’ to gallavant off to see some young 
missy or othah.” 

Sarah Goodloe, whose patience had been sorely tried 
that day by Miss Hogg and Mrs. Fowler, did not venture 
to reply until she had her feelings well under control. She 
threaded her needle, selected a fresh supply of carpet rags, 
from the basket at her side, and then said mildly: “You're 
laboring under a misapprehension, Sister Randy. Soon 
after our early dinner on that Sunday of which you speak. 
Brother Elton left us to drive over to Durritt to spend the 
afternoon with Mr. Sallee, an old college mate of his. He 
left our house before Brother Philip did, and didn’t return 
until after Brother Philip was back again from paying his 
little call. Brother Bryce is incapable of discourtesy to any 
one, much less to an honored fellow-minister, and a guest.” 

Neither Miranda Hogg nor Julia Fowler was minded 
to let the discussion end here; and Mary Mason and Ann 
Foster were just as eager to defend their beloved Brother 
Bryce as were Miss Hogg and Mrs. Fowler to condemn 
him ; but the tension of affairs in the sitting-room was 
relieved at this juncture by the entrance of Milton Bright. 
By the time he had made the circuit of the room, and had 
given each woman a cordial word and a welcoming shake 
of the hand, dinner was announced. 

When the ladies were reassembled in the sitting-room 
after all had enjoyed the bountiful hospitality of the din- 
ing-room, Mrs. Goodloe announced as the result of the 
morning’s work twenty-two and a half pounds of carpet 
filling ready for the weaving. 


THE LADIES' AID 


103 


“We've wucked so spry that the heft uv our job is 
done; so let’s take a little play-spell befoh resumin’ our 
needles,” was Julia Fowler’s motion, to which the others 
made ready assent. 

Sisters Goodloe, Foster, Mason, Lane, and one or two 
others, went for a stroll about the grounds. Misses Bird 
and Stump returned to the dining-room to help Mrs. Bright 
with the dishes. Sisters Hogg and Fowler seated them- 
selves in front of the grate where a small fire was smolder- 
ing, and each, turning the front breadth of her gown back 
over her knees, drew out of her pocket a tiny black box 
and a short stick, or brush ; and, first dipping this brush 
into the box, each began mopping her teeth with it, using 
the grate as a cuspidor. 

“They’re dipping snuff,” explained Ruth in a low tone, 
seeing Katharine’s astonished look; “several of the older 
women about here indulge in the practice. Isn’t it dis- 
gusting?” 

“I should say so !” Miss Marshall replied with a shud- 
der. “Infinitely worse than smoking,” as she spoke, glancing 
across to where old Sister Clark, pipe in mouth, was seated 
by an open window, puffing away in solitary enjoyment. 

“Suppose we have a game of croquet,” Kate presently 
proposed to Della and Ruth. The three girls proceeded to 
the croquet-ground, where they were joined by Cissy and 
Alec and Polly, and an exciting game followed. 

When the three young ladies returned to the house 
after their game, they found the circle reinforced by Mrs. 
Bright, and adjourned from sitting-room to parlor with the 
afternoon task of carpet rags. Mrs. Mason, looking up 
from her work as the girls entered, said : “Won’t you favor 
us with a song, Miss Marshall? I hear you have a fine 
voice.” 

The others seconded this request, and Kate seated her- 


104 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


self at the piano, and sang what she considered one of her 
choicest selections. Various exclamations of delight and 
commendation greeted her performance, and she was urged 
to sing again. 

“An’ fuh the land sake,” exclaimed Miss Hogg, who 
had taken no part in the chorus of praise over Miss Mar- 
shall’s first effort, “give us something tuney, this time ! All 
that tra-la-lahin’ an’ high screechin’ may be fine stuff, but 
’tain’t whut I call singinY’ 

The young lady from Covington felt abashed at this 
criticism, and began to fear that her severe course of 
training at Cincinnati College of Music had been time and 
money wasted. 

“Don’t you know ‘Golden Slippahs^’ ‘Package uv Old 
Lettahs,’ ‘When You an’ I Wuz Young, Maggie,’ or some- 
thing uv that sort with some tune to it?” Miranda asked. 

The girl had to acknowledge her ignorance of these 
vocal gems ; but she did know “Suwanee River” and “Old 
Man’s Dream,” and she sang both to the satisfaction of her 
audience; and at a request from Mrs. Foster she sang 
“Annie Laurie,” which also was so well received by even 
the critical Miss Hogg that Kate felt that she had in a 
measure atoned for the “tra-la-lahin’ ” and the “high 
screechin’ ” of her first performance. 

“Now, Sister Ruby, put by your sewing and play for 
us,” urged one of the ladies, when Miss Marshall had fin- 
ished her last song. 

“Now for ‘Maiden’s Prayer,’ ‘Smith’s March’ or ‘Sil- 
very Waves’,” thought Katharine as Miss Stump obligingly 
took her seat at the instrument. The girl’s astonishment 
was great when Ruby began one of Mendelssohn’s “Songs 
Without Words.” She played the selection with zest and 
expression. 

“You play delightfully, Miss Stump,” Kate exclaimed 


THE LADIES' AID 


105 


enthusiastically at the close of the performance. “You cer- 
tainly have decided talent.” 

“Thank you,” was Miss Ruby’s gratified reply. Then 
she nonchalantly subjoined : “I doubtless have some musical 
ability; but with me music is merely a pastime. Reading 
and study are my serious employments, and writing is my 
true vocation.” 

“How’s Sadie Jean progressing in her music, Sister 
Fowler?” inquired Mrs. Foster, presently. “She played 
real well before she went off to boarding-school ; so now, 
I suppose, she plays like a professional.” 

“To my mind, she’s progressin’ backwuds,” answered 
Mrs. Fowler. “She usetah play beautiful, an’ it alius made 
me feel like gittin’ up an’ dancin’, jest to heah her. But 
last vacation she couldn’t play nothin’ but long, senseless 
things called ‘Snorters’ and ‘Haytudes,’* that hadn’t no 
more tune to ’em than the cackle of a goose. An’ Daut she 
wuz alius a-practicin’ whut she called her tecknick or some 
such fool stuff, to limber up her fingahs an’ to strengthen 
her wrists, she said ; but I told her, if her fingahs wanted 
limberin’, to set to wuck on some knittin’, an’ that sweepin’ 
an’ churnin’ would likely make her wrists strong ’nough 
fur any puppus ; but that when it come to piany playin’, I 
wanted music.” 

By this time the afternoon was drawing to a close, and 
the aid society, therefore, adjourned to meet one month 
later with Sister Mason. 

“Be sure to come,” said Della to Ruth and Kate. “It’s 
such fun, isn’t it? As good as a circus,” she added. 

“Indeed it is,” the other two assented, and both prom- 
ised to be present. 


•Sonatas and etudes. 


106 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


CHAPTER XiV. 

THE SOCIAL VORTEX. 

Gather ye rosebuds while ye may, 

- Old Time is still a-flying; 

And this same flower that smiles to-day 
To-morrow may be dying. — Herrick. 

Ginseng had the usual amount of gayety and innocent 
amusement characteristic of the Kentucky village of the 
prosperous class ; and neither the young minister nor his 
parishioners, with the exception of Madame Fowler and 
Mademoiselle Hogg, deemed it unfitting that he should 
make one at these social gatherings. Miranda Hogg, it is 
true, even went to the length of remonstrating with Peter 
Henson, Milton Bright and Robert Mason in regard to 
what she was pleased to stigmatize as “that giddy young 
man’s onseemly worldliness;” but the three church officers 
treated her objections lightly, and gave it as their opinion 
that these innocent social diversions were exactly what the 
young man needed to rouse him, and to make him enter the 
more heartily, afterward, into the serious duties of his call- 
ing. 

So valued an addition was Philip to the circle of young 
people that the other members of the circle so timed and 
arranged all their social functions that his clerical duties 
should not conflict with his presence at their little gather- 
ings. 

By ordinary reckoning, Ginseng society now numbered 
five eligible bachelors and seven marriageable maids — not 
counting the absent Sadie Jean Fowler; but by John Hen- 
son’s peculiar method of computation, there were nine 
bachelors and eight maidens. “You see, ,, he one day mod- 


THE SOCIAL VORTEX 


107 


cstly explained to Tom Slocum and Ralph Moreland, “Slo- 
cum and I are each equal to three ordinary gallants, and 
Miss Ruby counts for at least two ordinary young ladies, 
seeing that she has discovered the fountain of perpetual 
youth, and is herself the sweetness and enticement of all 
her sex done up in one bewitching bundle. So it’s no won- 
der, Moreland, that you and Broadus tremble at the sight 
of her blooming cheeks, and thrill with ecstasy at the sound 
of her entrancing voice.” 

“I’m convinced that the only way to prevent bloodshed 
Between Broadus and myself is for you, John, to marry this 
fair enslaver,” the doctor soberly made answer. 

“With all the pleasure in life,” assented John, heartily. 

‘A fair field, and no favor,’ is all I need to accomplish 
this, my heart’s desire.” 

“I pledge you my word that henceforth neither Broadus 
nor I will stand in your way.” 

“But even with the doctor and the editor out of the run- 
ning, Jack, there’s the parson still left. Don’t you fear him 
3.s a rival?” asked Tom Slocum. 

“Who? Bryce?” was the reply. “He’s too humble- 
minded to aspire to our fair poetess. He’s nothing but a 
schoolboy. Don’t you know that he’s going to school to 
Miss Marshall at present?” 

“That being the case,” answered Tom, “all I’ve to say 
is that if Miss Marshall’s as proficient an instructress in 
Love’s little school as her patrons report her as being in 
Ginseng’s larger academy, Bryce’ll be well trained in one 
branch of knowledge, at least, before winter is over. Don’t 
you think so, Moreland?” 

“I think his education bids fair to be pretty thorough,” 
admitted the doctor; “and I don’t consider Cupid’s seat of 
learning as a ‘little school,’ either. I think it deserves the 
more dignified title of university.” 


108 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


“But,” objected young Henson, “its course of study isn't 
elective, as it is in a university, but obligatory, Moreland." 

“Besides," added Tom, “there’s only one text-book used, 
and only one branch of learning taught." 

“You’re out of your reckoning there, Thomas," rejoined 
Ralph. “The course of instruction may not be altogether 
elective ; but the branches taught are many and varied, and 
so are the text-books used — although they are, I’ll admit, 
every one of them the work of that all-competent author. 
Professor Dan Cupid, D. L." 

“Well, call this seat of instruction university, college, 
academy, private school or what you will," said John, “I’m 
persuaded that under Miss Marshall’s tuition the curricu- 
lum is both pleasant and profitable. In fact, I shouldn’t 
mind going to school to her myself were it not for my 
plans in regard to that pearl — I mean that Ruby among 
women, the enchanting Miss Stump." 

“You forget, Henson," young Slocum put in, “that the 
laws of this commonwealth prevent a man's marrying his 
grandmother. It’s strange that you, who aspire to be a 
lawyer, should have overlooked this important statute of 
your native State." 

“So, after all, friend John, it’s not in your power to- 
avert that duel between Broadus and myself," said More- 
land, with an air of sad disappointment. 

“Away with your laws and your grandmothers, 
Thomas!" retorted young Henson, with a contemptuous 
wave of his hand. “Mademoiselle Ruby is only in her 
twenty-ninth year. She’s been at that interesting age for 
the last decade; and if she’ll only stay there nine more 
years (and there’s no earthly reason why she shouldn’t), 
I’ll be as old as she, and all your laws and statutes shan’t 
prevent our nuptials,” 

Thomas Slocum did bis best to live up to his reputation 


THE SOCIAL VOR TEX 


109 


for gallantry by always being in readiness, whenever there 
was any social function pending in the village, to drive into 
the country for Ruth Vanarsdale and Della Mason, between 
whom his affections were still in a wavering, unsettled con- 
dition. John Henson proved himself equal to any three 
ordinary beaux by being always available as an escort for 
Pearl and Nell Slocum, and likewise for Ruby Stump, 
whenever it happened that neither Ralph Moreland nor 
Shelburn Broadus could be inveigled by the diplomacy of 
the frolicsome Mr. Slocum and his coadjutor, John, into 
service in beh;lf of the last-mentioned damsel. 

Ralph Moreland, however, generally contrived to escape 
the snares which Tom and John so cunningly devised, and 
to escort Diana Henson to the social gatherings of the clan, 
unless he was forestalled by Shelburn Broadus, who also 
showed a decided tendency to “worship at the shrine of 
Diana.” 

As winter progressed it did seem that Tom and John 
were correct in regard to Philip Bryce’s movements. The 
young minister and the young teacher were discovering 
many mutual tastes and sympathies ; and his visits to 
Willow Brook Farm were becoming of far more frequent 
occurrence than those he paid to other members of his 
flock. 

Milton and Nancy Bright, being wise in their genera- 
tion, soon ceased to regard these winter evening visits as 
being altogether of the nature of pastoral calls. Hence, it 
soon grew to be their custom upon these occasions to 
exchange a few cordial words with the young man, and 
then to withdraw to their own sitting-room fireside. Not 
so with some of the children. It was a tenet of their social 
creed that the entertainment of any guest (especially of a 
guest so highly valued as was Mr. Bryce) should not 
devolve solely upon one member of the household. More- 


110 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


ever, had not Brother Bryce once pronounced theirs to be 
the most homelike home in America? “And,” they rea- 
soned, “how could this high opinion of his in regard to 
Willow Brook be maintained, if the younger members of 
the family were not to do their part toward making him 
feel at home when he came?” 

It was comparatively easy for them to escape the slight 
surveillance of their easy-going mother. Consequently, the 
earlier portion of each of Mr. Bryce’s evening visits was 
perforce devoted by him to the children — at least, to the 
claims of the younger children. To Cissy, Alec and Polly, 
“study hour” was of such paramount importance that even 
the sacred rites of hospitality must be sacrificed thereto. 
But Susan was too young for night study, and little Mar- 
garet and Buddy were not yet of school age. Buddy, it is 
true, was generally too sleepy to care to remain in the par- 
lor, but Susan and Margaret were generally on hand to 
assist in Mr. Bryce’s entertainment. To do her justice, it 
must be stated that Puggie — dear little girl — did not often 
now, as upon the first Sunday afternoon of Miss Marshall’s 
appearance, in any way usurp a prominent place in the con- 
versation of her elders ; and usually when Mr. Bryce called 
she was content to sit mutely in her little rocking-chair 
between him and Miss Katharine; but Susan was of a more 
vivacious temperament. She had no intention of being seen 
and not heard, and felt herself quite equal to maintaining 
her part in any conversation. It was not, therefore, until 
after the children’s half-past-eight-o’clock bedtime that 
Katharine had by any means an undisputed claim upon Mr. 
Bryce’s attention. 


AN AUTHORITY ON THE RAIN-CROW 111 


CHAPTER XV. 

AN AUTHORITY ON THE RAIN-CROW. 

All during February there had been an unusually heavy 
rainfall, and in consequence, one night toward the end of 
the month, Slidell’s Run, overflowing its banks, turned out 
of its course, and caused a disastrous washout in Thorpe’s 
Valley, a low-lying, flat region a mile or two back of Wil- 
low Brook Farm. The morning after the washout, Philip 
Bryce and Ralph Moreland, having heard of the disaster, 
set forth for the flooded district, to see what could be done 
for the relief of its inhabitants. They called at Willow 
Brook on their way, to get Mr. Bright to accompany them. 

While they were sitting on their horses at the side gate, 
waiting for Bright to join them, Uncle Charley, who was 
returning to the house, wet and bedraggled from his quest 
through the dripping willow bushes, in search of an errant 
hen and her brood of young chickens, came up. 

Philip, who was speculating as to the probability of 
Miss Marshall’s having already started for school, spoke 
to the old negro kindly but absent-mindedly, but Ralph, 
who enjoyed a wordy encounter with the half-crazy old 
darkey, jocularly accosted him : “Well, Mr. Withers, how 
does your corporeal substance appear to gasuate at this 
present periodical conjuncture?” 

“Thank you, suh ; ’ceptin’ fuh dis mis’ry in my back, my 
heaf is middlin’ brisk, consid’rin’ my time o’ life, an’ the 
tur’ble wet corndition ob de atmospheres at present.” 

“Ah,” answered Moreland, “ ‘de atmospheres’ do appear 
to be a trifle damp ; but it’s a fine morning for young 
ducks.” v 

“Well, suh, it’s more’n it is fuh young chickens. I’s 


112 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


been all mawniir meanderin’ ’roun’ frew dem drippin’ wil- 
lers yandah, tryin’ to git dat obstrep’rous ole buff Cochin 
an’ her chickens to go intah de poultry-house. It suttinly 
do look lak hens is bawn foolish, an’ de oldah dey gits, the 
foolisher dey gits.” 

“Oh, well,” Ralph answered, comfortingly, “the raim 
are about over, and we’ll soon have plenty of sunshine, 
which will be good for that ‘mis’ry in your back,’ and for 
young chickens, too.” 

“Doan you fool yourse’f ’bout dis rainy spaill, Doctah. 
It’s gwinetah last some time yit — ’cordin’ to dat wailin’ ole 
demon ovah yandah,” answered Uncle Charles, referring 
to a rain-crow dimly visible amid the dripping boughs of a 
willow-tree, and who from this eyrie was uttering his 
weird cry. 

“You pesky ole vagabone, you !” continued the darkey, 
apostrophizing the bird. “Why carn’t you consarve yo’ 
wailin’ till harves’ time, when de airth’ll be fairly pantin’ 
full a drap o’ moistur’ — instid o’ bringin’ dis deluge on 
us now?” 

Bryce now shook off his abstraction, and said, “But, 
Uncle Charley, the rain-crow doesn’t cause wet weather, 
does it?” 

“I reckon dey doan hab no rain-crows in dat fuh-off 
country whut you hails frum, Brothah Bryce ; so, ob course, 
you’s not well ’quainted wid theh habits.” 

Bryce acknowledged that, so far as he knew, there was 
no such species of bird in Australia. 

“Well, when you’s knowed de rain-crow ez long ez I 
has,” answered Uncle Charley, “you’ll find he do fotch rain. 
When he cries fuh it, it comes, an’ dat’s a fact. He’s fust 
cousin to de scritch-owl, de rain-crow is, an’ he’s meaner 
dan any ob his kin. He’s de corntrariest bird whut evah 
flew. He’s alius been corntrary ebah sence de flood, when 


AN AUTHORITY ON THE R A IN -CROW 113 


he refuse Marse Noey’s invurtation to entah de ark ob 
safety.” 

“Wasn’t the rain-crow in the ark, Uncle Charles? I 
thought every bird and beast was represented in that 
assemblage,” said Bryce, much amused at the old negro’s 
vagaries. 

“Brother Philip’s Scriptural knowledge appears not so 
extensive as we had thought, eh, Doctor?” laughed Milton 
Bright, who had drawn near and was leaning on the gate, 
waiting for Alec to bring his horse from the stable. 

Uncle Charles, paying no attention to this last observa- 
tion, went on in reply to Mr. Bryce: “No, suh, beggin’ yo’ 
pardon, you’s been slightly miscon formed on dis mattah. It 
wuz iis a way; ole Marse Noey an’ young Marse Hem an’ 
Sham an’ Jafer, dey kotch an’ brung to de doah ob de ark 
a pa’r or a seben ob ebry libbin crittah ; but when Marstah 
an’ Missus Noey an’ deh sons an’ deh daughter-by-laws 
tries to git de rain-crow intah de ark, he woan budge.” 

“I must really look into this subject more thoroughly,” 
observed Bryce, with an air of profound interest. “You 
make me quite ashamed of my lack of knowledge, Uncle 
Charles.” 

“Tell us more about this matter, Brother Withers,” 
urged Moreland ; “you’re a perfect thesaurus of Biblical 
lore.” 

The garrulous old fellow, glad to air his wisdom, pro- 
ceeded : “ Til be ’bleeged to you, Marse Noey,’ says Mistah 
Rain-crow, ‘ef you’ll find a seat inside fuh Missus Rain- 
crow, kaze she’s feared o’ lightnin’, an’ hates to git her 
Sunday ’parel damp ; but I purfuhs a seat outside whah I 
kin view de elemints.’ So he perch hisse’f on de gable end 
ob de ark, an’ keeps up a-screechin’ an’ a-wailin’ to let de 
Lawd know dat some ob de mount’ins an’ hills an’ de tall 
trees wuz still ’bove watah, fuh de pore lost, ondone sin- 


114 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


nahs to cling to. Yessuh, dat wuz de way ob it; an’ Mistah 
Rain-crow he’s jes ez corntrary now-days ez he wuz den,” 
continued the negro, shaking the raindrops from his old 
felt hat ; “an’ when we doan need a drap o’ vvatah, he cries 
full it, lak all puhsessed ; an’ in hot summah time, when all 
creation air a-trabblin’ togethah, an’ a-beggin’ full a leetle 
moist’nin’, he woan croak nary a croak.” 

As the three men rode on, they laughed heartily over 
the old negro’s version of the sixth and seventh chapters 
of Genesis; and Philip observed, “It’s interesting to see 
how much of what the ignorant, unlettered negroes hold 
as Bible truth is derived from superstition and folklore.” 

“The higher critics have much the same idea, I believe, 
in regard to the origin of many of the Biblical views of 
the more conservative element in our churches,” remarked 
Ralph. “But I may be misjudging them, however,” he con- 
tinued, “for these adherents of the higher criticism cult are 
so mythical in their utterances and so abstruse in their 
reasoning that their real meaning is often too deep to be 
reached by my little plummet-line.” 

“As to that,” said Bright, “it must sometimes puzzle 
the elect angels themselves to understand all their doctrines. 
But so far as my untutored mind can grasp the situation, it 
seems to me that these ‘New Thought’ apostles do look 
upon much of the Bible as little better than fable — its mir- 
acles, mere fiction; the Pentateuch, a conglomeration of 
legendary scraps; and much of what we old fogies believe 
the inspired narrative of God’s dealings with his people, 
simply uninspired Hebrew drama. What say you, Brother 
Philip?” 

“I hardly think the matter so bad as that. While many 
Scriptural subjects are now being regarded from some- 
thing of a new viewpoint, still the new scholarship and our 
more conservative thinkers are not so far apart, after all. 


] eSy suhy da/ wuz dc wa v ob it . 
















* 








AN AUTHORITY ON THE RAIN -CROW 115 


In every essential of Christianity the faith of each division 
of our brotherhood is the same/’ was the reply. 

“Don’t deceive yourself, my dear brother,” replied 
Bright, earnestly. “The difference is great and constantly 
becoming greater; and one can’t overestimate the danger 
threatened our faith by this irreverent handling of the 
Word by these sages who have become wise above what 
is written, and who are as arrogant and self-sufficient as 
though the Almighty had in this latter day accorded them 
some special revelation. One must steer clear of their 
speculations, or he will presently find himself floundering 
among the shoals and breakers of downright infidelity.” 

Bryce rode on in silence for awhile, and then said: 
“Still, although every word of the Bible be inspired rev- 
elation, instead of some portions being — as many of our 
advanced scholars maintain — the product of literary evolu- 
tion, it doesn’t follow that the Scriptures contain all of 
God’s message to humanity.” 

“If they don’t, where are we to look for the rest of 
the message?” was Bright’s blunt inquiry. 

“In nature, in the nobler aspirations of the human heart, 
in the beautiful and true in literature, art and science.” 

Bright rejoined: “But if we interpret this message of 
nature and of the human heart and art and literature and 
science by any other light than that of God’s Bible, we are 
led into error.” 

“While I am not, you will understand,” said Philip, 
“advocating any of the special doctrines labeled with the 
‘Higher Criticism’ tag, I must say that many of the views 
about which the conservative religious world is raising 
such a hue and cry appear to me as much the same as 
those held by the great thinkers of all ages.” 

“That depends upon whom you consider the great 
thinkers, doesn’t it?” asked Moreland. 


116 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


“Exactly,” replied Milton Bright before Bryce could 
speak. “Many things now vaunted as modern thought 
were held a generation or two ago by German infidels, 
and even many generations ago by heathen philosophers 
among the Greeks and Persians.” 

“In fact, these Biblical speculations are, as Holmes 
would say, ‘as old as the trilobites.’ But why worry about 
them? The old Book holds good, and always will,” 
remarked Ralph, hoping to end the discussion. 

After a pause Philip said: “There’s a vast difference 
between the essentials of Christianity and its ever- varying 
creeds. Christianity is a relation or an attitude toward 
God ; creeds are man’s feeble efforts to explain that rela- 
tion or attitude.” 

“I heartily agree with you there. Furthermore, I’m not 
so narrow as to think any opinion or view is right just 
because it has always been held so in the past,” answered 
Milton. 

“And possibly — although, as I said, I’m far from hav- 
ing a clear understanding of the views advocated by mod- 
ern critics — both they and the old-fashioned thinkers may 
be right. The matter under dispute may, after all, be sim- 
ply a question of looking at the two sides of the same 
shield, you know,” said Moreland. 

’“No!” stoutly contended Bright. “Your comparison is 
wrong. It’s not a matter of looking at different sides of 
the same shield. These ‘New Thought’ disciples and we 
conservatives can’t both be right; since, if there is any 
truth in what they teach, it means the annihilation of the 
rock on which our faith rests. If what they claim about 
the Bible be true, the God we in our ignorance have blindly 
worshiped doesn’t exist.” 

“I must confess,” said Philip, “that I do not consider 
the matter so grave as that; and, as I just stated, I can not 


AN AUTHORITY ON THE RAIN-CROW 117 


see that the difference between the old view and the new 
on Biblical questions is so marked. Opinions, views on all 
subjects, are constantly in a state of flux and readjustment; 
and you, Brother Bright, are too liberal-minded to desire 
that one’s viewpoint to-day on Scriptural subjects should 
be the same as that of the men of half a century ago.” 

“The viewpoint of the Christian world of to-day on all 
Scriptural suLjects should be that of nineteen centuries 
ago,” retorted Bright. “We of this day, instead of sur- 
rendering or trying to shape into new forms any of the 
distinctive doctrines of the Christian religion, should hold 
fast to them in the exact form in which they were first 
delivered us by Christ and his apostles.” 

After another silence, Moreland remarked: “It isn’t the 
acceptance of this or that belief about the Bible that 
counts; but it is our acceptance of Christ himself.” 

“Yes,” assented Bryce, “the essential thing in the whole 
matter of the Christian life is the recognition and accept- 
ance of Jesus as our Teacher, our Master, our Ideal and 
Model.” 

“And also,” added Bright, “the acceptance of him as 
our Sacrificial Offering, cur Sinbearer, our Atonement. By 
the way, Brother Philip, I wish you’d give us a sermon on 
the atonement. You have never done so yet, and it is a 
subject which should often be taught.” 

As this was of all subjects the one about which the 
young preacher felt that he differed most widely from the 
leading members of his church, it was fortunate that the 
near approach of the three men to their destination spared 
him the necessity of a reply. 

They found the condition of affairs in the flooded dis- 
trict quite deplorable, and their homeward ride was taken 
up with discussion of ways and means to relieve the suf- 
ferers. 


118 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


During the next week the people of Ginseng were active 
in their efforts to relieve the condition of the inhabitants of 
Thorpe’s Valley. The young people were not less eager 
than their elders in this charitable work. Believing devoutly 
in their musical abilities, they had long thought of giving a 
concert. Hence, they hailed with joy Mrs. Goodloe’s sug- 
gestion that they give one for the benefit of the flood 
sufferers ; and the next evening after the suggestion was 
made, they held a preliminary meeting at Elmarch. 

Mrs. Goodloe, who was the leader of nearly every 
charitable undertaking of the community, and also was a 
woman of wonderful tact and executive ability, was to be 
patroness of the enterprise and chaperone to the young 
people. Neither Shelburn Broadus nor Tom Slocum was 
noted for musical gifts; but the former, by reason of his 
being wielder of the editorial thunder of the Jupiter, was 
constituted grand master of ceremonies; and Tom Slocum 
was too resourceful a member of society to be ignored. 
“My voice,” said he, “is of the still, small order, and my 
talents in any other direction, nil; but I shall be happy to 
act as general utility man to my more gifted comrades.” 

John Henson had a voice which he himself rated as “a 
cross between an alto and a thorough bass.” He could 
also sing Irish songs in a delightfully realistic, if not very 
musical, brogue ; and Jim Dick Fowler possessed a resonant 
bass voice. Della Mason, who good-naturedly declared her 
willingness to play upon any instrument from a violin to a 
jew’s-harp, finally decided upon a mandolin solo. Diana 
Henson had a strong, sympathetic but untrained soprano, 
which would do nicely in the choruses, she said. Ruth 
Vanarsdale contributed a fine contralto ; Ralph Moreland, a 
splendid baritone ; and Philip Bryce, a rich, highly culti- 
vated tenor which would have delighted any music lover. 
Elihu Clay had inherited from “The Great Pacificator,” or 


AN AUTHORITY ON THE RAIN-CROW 119 


some other of his illustrious ancestry, a genius for the 
violin, and Mrs. Elihu was an ideal accompanist. Ruby 
Stump, however, was the sheet anchor of the coterie as a 
pianist, while all looked upon Katharine Marshall as vocal- 
ist par excellence. 

With so much talent at their command, and so good' a 
cause upon which to expend it, it is not to be wondered at 
that every one was enthusiastic over the concert which was 
to be given as speedily as possible. 


120 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


CHAPTER XVI. 

AN OLD FOLKS’ CONCERT. 

Probably there is no form of musicale that appeals more 
strongly to the popular fancy than an old folks’ concert, 
nor is there any form of entertainment which offers more 
varied possibilities in the way of costume and stage deco- 
ration. Therefore, an old folks’ concert was decided upon 
by the musical talent of Ginseng. 

John Henson and Della Mason, delighted at the pros- 
pect of toning down their glowing locks with a coating of 
powder, immediately decided to impersonate George and 
Martha Washington, and they adhered to this decision, not- 
withstanding some of the others did hint that our revered 
first President was in all probability not given to singing 
burlesque Irish songs, and that the mandolin was not in 
vogue in America in Madam Washington’s day. Little, 
however, cared John or Della for such slight anachronisms 
as these. 

“Tell me not,” said John with a tone and accent which 
he fondly supposed to be of the best Hibernian brand, “that 
the ‘Fayther of his Counthry’ had no sthrain of Irish blud 
in his veins ! How ilse could he so cliverly have outwitted 
the Hissians at the chrossing of the Dilaware? To say 
nothing of the sthyle in which upon divers occasions he 
befooled Lord Howe and the Breetish Parliament?” 

Della averred that, “anachronism or any other ism to 
the contrary,” she intended making her first appearance 
before the footlights in the becoming garb and coiffure of 
the ladies of the First Administration. “And, as for the 
mandolin,” she argued, “history doesn’t reveal that Martha 
Washington was an accomplished performer upon any 


AN OLD FOLKS' CONCERT 


121 


instrument except the spinning-wheel ; so the mandolin will 
do as well as anything.’' 

With his customary complaisance, Tom Slocum declared 
that he would be satisfied with anything Nell and Pearl 
could rig up for him, whether it was the vestments of a 
Trappist monk or the outfit of a Western cowboy. Mr. 
Clay said he had the suit of clothes which his Great-uncle 
Henry had worn in Congress upon the occasion of his 
bringing forward the Omnibus Bill of 1850, and that he 
intended wearing these sacred habiliments the night of the 
concert. Ralph Moreland was by this reminded that he 
had somewhere among his widely scattered belongings the 
uniform his father had worn as captain under “Cerro 
Gordo Williams” in the Mexican War. 

“Just the thing, Dr. Moreland!” exclaimed Diana. 
“You’ll sing ‘Warrior Bold’ with realistic fervor in that 
costume.” 

This dress parade on the part of Mr. Clay and the 
doctor recalled to Mr. Fowler’s remembrance that he, too, 
had a uniform and the “pair of applettes ” that had been 
worn by Zachary Taylor at the battle of Cowpens. Where- 
upon the irrepressible John Henson murmured in an aside 
to some of the girls: “If ‘Old Rough and Ready’ really did 
figure at Cowpens, it must have been while he was in a 
previous state of existence; for my little history book says 
he was born in 1784 and that the battle of Cowpens was 
fought in 1780.” 

“What have you decided on, Brother Bryce?” was the 
solicitous inquiry of some of the ladies. 

“Having no heirlooms in the way of ancestral raiment, 
I shall, I think, make my debut in regulation spook costume 
— a la sheet and pillow-case,” was the nonchalant reply of 
the young minister. 

“Such attire would without doubt be airy and impres- 


122 THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 

sive,” laughingly remarked Diana, “but what about songs 
to fit the part?” 

“Ah! I hadn’t thought of that,” acknowledged Bryce. 
He then added: “How would ‘Ever My Spirit Lingers 
with Thee’ do? Doesn’t that sound ghostly enough? Or 
perhaps, with a few slight verbal changes, ‘Ah! I Have 
Sighed to Rest Me,’ might be still more in character for a 
restless apparition to warble.” 

After a moment’s reflection, Mrs. Goodloe solved the 
question by tendering the loan of her father’s wedding suit. 
“It is,” she said, “a handsome costume, and will be,” she 
added, contemplating the well-built figure of her young 
minister, “a perfect fit and extremely becoming.” 

With the exception of Della, the ladies were not so out- 
spoken as were the gentlemen upon the important matter 
of stage attire. Nevertheless, it was to each of them a 
consuming matter of thought, even to the exclusion, for 
the time being, of the question, “What shall I sing?” or 
“What shall I play?” After much deliberation, Ruth, 
Diana, Nell, Pearl, Ruby and Mrs. Clay each settled upon 
appropriate attire; but Kate, who, like Mr. Bryce, had no 
precious heirlooms to depend upon, was wondering what 
she should do, when the resourceful Mrs. Goodloe tapped 
her on the arm and whispered : “I’ve the very thing for 
you, my dear. It’s the dress I wore at an infair in 1862. 
It can easily be altered to fit you, and you’ll look so sweet 
in it. I’ll send it over to you.” Accordingly, the next day 
she sent to Willow Brook a basket in which were a beau- 
tiful tortoise-shell comb, a dainty silk fan, a necklace of 
pearl beads, and a gown of delicate pink, satin-striped 
berege, made full skirt, low neck, short sleeves, and satin 
girdle. The basket contained also a yellow-leaved book, 
“The Silver Chord,” a treasury of old operatic gems, 
Scotch melodies, national airs, and love songs. Later that 


AN OLD FOLKS ’ CONCERT 


123 


same evening Philip Bryce called at Willow Brook. 
Together he and Kate examined the book of old-time 
music. From it they selected ‘‘Kathleen Mavourneen,” and 
“Then You’ll Remember Me,” for Philip’s solos ; “Cornin’ 
Thro’ the Rye” and “Vale of Chamouni” for Kate’s, and 
two duets for tenor and soprano. 

For a time all went well; and nearly every one had 
words of encouragement for the workers, although Miss 
Hogg gave it as her opinion that “all this play-actin’ fool- 
ishness wuz hatched up jes so’s them giddy young folks kin 
git togethah, an’ have a good time; an’ it’s mighty little 
they keer about heppin them flood suff’rers.” She and her 
sister likewise affirmed that it was by no means “fittin’ fur 
preachahs to take part in sich carryin’s-on.” 

Mrs. Fowler averred: “Jim Dick’ll look like a fool 
cavortin’ ’round in that moth-eaten old uniform uv his 
Uncle Bob’s.” Nevertheless, it was apparent that she was 
filled with wifely pride because her meek little spouse had 
been assigned an important role. But after a time, not 
content with this honor, she bethought herself that Daut’s 
name upon that program would give it additional luster. 
Having conceived this idea, she lost no time in making it 
known. That afternoon she went to Elmarch. Mrs. Good- 
loe was not at home, but Brother Bryce was ; and to him 
Sister Fowler made known her wishes, expecting that he 
would warmly advocate Miss Fowler’s claims. 

With some difficulty commanding his countenance to 
suitable clerical gravity when he heard the good sister’s 
absurd proposition, he gave some evasive reply to the effect 
that Miss Fowler’s educational pursuits were of paramount 
importance, and that it would be a great pity that she 
should be called from her studies at this juncture. Her 
mother replied that she wanted Daut to come home for a 
week or two, anyway, as her spring wardrobe needed 


124 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


replenishing. Mr. Bryce then found himself obliged to 
intimate in as courteous phrases as he could command that 
Miss Sadie Jean’s assistance at the musicale could be dis- 
pensed with.* 

From that moment the young man’s doom as minister 
of Ginseng Christian Church was fixed, so far as Brother 
and Sister Fowler had a voice in the matter. 

Mrs. Fowler’s immediate revenge was to make her hus- 
band withdraw from any further participation in the con- 
cert. His withdrawal left a great gap in the program, and 
filled the other members of the club with consternation, 
until at the next rehearsal Mr. Broadus bethought himself 
of a Miss Cecelia Miller who lived at Hastings, and who, 
according to his showing, was a musical wonder. Miss 
Miller was, he said, quite young, but she was not only the 
best pianist he had ever heard, but a composer as well, and 
had already played in public several of her own master- 
pieces. He urged that she be invited to take part in the 
concert. 

The others were delighted to act upon Mr. Broadus' 
advice, and commissioned him to write to this modern 
feminine edition of Orpheus, beseeching her to come to the 
rescue of the musicale. Miss Miller promptly accepted this 
invitation. Whereupon, Ruby Stump proposed to resign 
her position as pianist to her more gifted sister artist, and 
to herself favor the audience with the recital of an original 
poem descriptive of the Thorpe Valley disaster. 

At this proposition the others exchanged glances of dis- 
may. Philip Bryce rubbed his chin perplexedly, and looked 
appealingly at Katharine and Diana in the vain hope that 
their woman’s wit might extricate the club from this calam- 
ity. Ralph Moreland murmured something sounding like 
“All’s lost save honor,’’ and retired to a dim recess between 
the wall and piano, and for the next few seconds appeared 


AN OLD FOLKS' CONCER7 


125 


to be saying his prayers. John Henson exclaimed delight- 
edly: “Just the thing, Miss Ruby! Recite your poem, and 
ril follow with ‘The Battle of Sennecharib.’ Circumstances 
have hitherto compelled me to hide my elocutionary talons 
under a napkin, but here’s my opportunity.” Tom Slocum 
modestly intimated that a clog dance executed by himself 
might prove another pleasing break in the musical pro- 
gram. However, as the others gave no heed to these sug- 
gestions, John and Tom held their peace. 

Shelburn Broadus, secure in the laurels he had won by 
the introduction of his musical prodigy from Hastings, did 
not care a rap what Ruby might do or say at the concert; 
but his prophetic eye foresaw that if she were allowed to 
recite her poem, her next move would be to insist upon its 
publication in the Jupiter. He, therefore, turned to her 
and said suavely, but with determination : “No, no, Miss 
Ruby! We mustn’t lose sight of the fact that this function 
is to be a musicale ; and, therefore, although we all know 
how melodious is your meter, and how harmonious your 
verse” (this with an insinuating smile and bow), “we must 
adhere strictly to the letter of the law, and have nothing 
on our program that even the most carping critic would 
consider an innovation.” 

Ruby looked greatly pleased at the editor’s compliment, 
and consented to forego the poem ; and the rest of the club 
took courage. 

The next afternoon Diana and Kate privately ques- 
tioned Shelburn concerning Miss Miller’s musical produc- 
tions. He said he had heard her play several of them, but 
that he could recall the name of only one, “The Mermaid’s 
Dance.” He added, as he was turning away, “But that” 
(referring to the above-mentioned composition) “is cer- 
tainly a hummer.” 

“It may well be that, don’t you think? I had never 


126 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


thought that mermaids numbered the terpsichorean art 
among their accomplishments, had you, Katharine?” said 
Diana as soon as Broadus was out of earshot. 

“On the contrary,” answered Kate, “judging from their 
physical make-up, I should have supposed dancing an 
impossibility for them ; but then,” she admitted, “I’m very 
ignorant of the habits and capabilities of the mermaid 
tribe.” 

Cecelia Miller dawned upon the Ginseng horizon at the 
last rehearsal. She was a slender, rather pretty girl, in 
spite of the fact that Dame Nature in a fit of caprice had 
endowed her with an uptilted, pert-looking little nose and 
a rather too large and full-lipped mouth. Cecelia couldn’t 
have been over sixteen, but she had the self-confidence and 
assertiveness of a woman of forty. Genius is said to be 
self-conscious. If this be true, Miss Miller was the triple 
extract of genius. 

As she went to the piano that evening of the last 
rehearsal, her stilted, mincing gait, the tip tilt of her super- 
cilious little nose, and the toss of her sleek brown head 
seemed to say: “Give way, good people! Behold, the con- 
quering hero comes!” 

As she seated herself at the instrument, she turned to 
the company and explained, condescendingly, “I shall now 
play a sweet little trifle, ‘Schubert’s Impromptu,’ in B flat, 
opus 142, No. 3.” 

Mr. Broadus, gravely taking out his note-book, wrote 
down title, composer, opus, number, key; while the rest of 
the club gazed at each other in amazement, and Ruby whis- 
pered to Kate, “If she thinks ‘Schubert’s Impromptu’ a 
trifle, what does she consider difficult?” 

Cecelia looked well to her pedals, ran her fingers a pre- 
liminary gallop up and down the key-board, then turned, 
and transfixed the others with an indignant glare as she 


AN OLD FOLKS' CONCERT 


127 


exclaimed: “This instrument is shockingly dirty! I can 
not do myself justice upon it. Will not some one bring me 
a duster?” 

Shelburn Broadus frowned reproachfully at the ladies 
who felt that they had violated every principle of good 
breeding by allowing this distinguished guest to seat her- 
self at a dusty piano. Mr. Clay began hunting helplessly 
around for a duster; while Dr. Moreland and Messrs. 
Bryce, Slocum and Henson fairly tumbled over each 
other in their eagerness to fly to the help of the distressed 
damsel. John reached her first, and, whipping out his 
handkerchief, he fell afoul of his sister’s “Steinway,” and 
rubbed, polished and belabored it until no speck of dust 
remained upon its mahogany surface. 

With a condescending smile and “Thank you !” to the 
perspiring but beaming John, the appeased goddess of 
music began. 

Such agility, strength and smoothness of execution as 
her playing displayed! Such clear, tinkling notes, rippling 
arpeggios, perfect trills and runs as her nimble hands gave 
forth! As a finger exercise her performance was well- 
nigh perfect; but there was no more expression in it than 
in the chirp of a grasshopper. She likewise displayed a 
sublime indifference to correct time and phrasing, and she 
occasionally improved ( ?) upon the original composition 
by interpolating runs and trills of her own. 

Under cover of the concluding chords, Mrs. Clay mur- 
mured : “You needn’t have any fear, Ruby. I’m not a 
judge of classic music, but I do know what will please a 
Filson County audience; and I’m sure your playing will 
be far more appreciated than that young lady’s.” 

When Miss Miller had finished “the sweet little trifle,” 
Dr. Moreland, bowing with the grace of a Chesterfield, 
said, “Thank you, Miss Miller, your playing is quite a 


128 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


revelation to us” — as indeed it was. As soon as rehearsal 
was over, John again hurried to Miss Miller and begged to- 
escort her to Mrs. Slocum’s, where the young lady was to 
be entertained until after the concert. 


“I’m sorry I can’t be your escort to-night, Ruth,” said 
young Henson while the family at Rose Lawn and their 
two guests, Ruth Vanarsdale and Kate Marshall, were 
seated at the supper table the evening of the concert; “but 
duty calls me elsewhere, and I must resign you to the care 
of Di and the doctor or of Miss Kate and the parson.” 

“Why, Johnny,” exclaimed his mother, “I’m surprised 
that you think of gallivanting off with some other girl 
when your Cousin Ruth hasn’t an escort — and she your 
guest, too.” 

“Your son is not himself to-night, Aunt Zereldy ; he’s 
the revered George Washington, and his helpmeet, Madam 
Martha — nee Della Mason — awaits his coming,” Ruth 
laughingly explained. 

“You’re making a slight mistake about that, my dear 
Ruth,” said John. * “My honored spouse, Dame Martha, 
will reach the glittering halls of music to-night under the 
care of her Cabinet Minister, Thomas Troutman Slocum ; 
while her liege lord is to convey thither that winsome las- 
sie, Cecelia Miller.” 

“But I thought 'Shelburn Broadus claimed Miss Miller 
by right of discovery,” exclaimed Diana. 

“ ‘Palmam qui meruit ferat ’,” quoted John, smiling 
reminiscently. 

“And, in this instance, ‘he who merits' means yourself, 
not Mr. Broadus, I presume,” remarked Ruth. 

“Your perspicacity and your knowledge of Latin are 
both commendable, Miss Vanarsdale,” answered young 
Henson. 


AN OLD FOLKS' CONCERT 


129 


“What do you mean, John; and what has become of 
Mr. Broadus?” asked Mrs. Henson, to whom both the 
Latin quotation and Ruth’s interpretation thereof were 
utterly meaningless. 

“It’s this way, mither dear,” answered John : “As I was 
passing by Mr. Lane’s this morning, Miss Ruby called me 
in to consult me in regard to some change she wanted made 
in the program. I told her Broadus was musical director, 
and that I’d send him around to see her. She fairly beamed 
at this ; and about half an hour later, as I was sauntering 
by Broadus’ office, he came out and turned in the direction 
of the Slocum residence. My masculine intuition immedi- 
ately warned me that he was on his way to engage the fair 
Cecelia’s company. I, therefore, hastened up to him, and 
told him Miss Ruby wished to see him on important 
changes in the program, and I urged him to go to her at 
once. I knew that, once in that parlor, Ruby’d never let 
him out alive, except as her promised escort. But to make 
assurance doubly sure, as soon as he had faced about and 
was headed in the direction of Lane’s, I hurried on to 
Slocum’s ; and — and — and Miss Miller is mine — at least, 
for to-night.” 

“For ways that are dark and tricks that are not vain, 
commend me to John Henson,” laughingly commented his 
father. “Your motto is, 'All’s fair in love or war,’ isn’t 
it. my son?” 

“My motto,” returned John, “is, The greatest good to 
the greatest* number.’ By my little stroke of diplomacy 
Miss Miller is made positively happy; myself, compara- 
tively happier; Miss Ruby, superlatively happiest; and — 
and if Shelburn Broadus ain’t happy, he ought to be.” 

“Come,” said Mrs. Henson, “we can’t sit here all night, 
listening to this boy’s foolishness. It’s time you girls were 
beginning to dress.” 


130 


THE MAN I ROM AUSTRALIA 


“That’s true,” agreed her husband. “And hark you, 
lassies, it won’t take Mrs. Henson and me long to slip into 
our regalia; so don your war-paint and feathers quickly, 
and be off, so that we can lock up after you, and get to 
the hall in time to secure good seats.” 

By the time the girls were dressed, Dr. Moreland and 
Mr. Bryce were reported as awaiting them in the parlor. 

Diana looked superbly beautiful that evening in a rich, 
changeable satin whose sheeny folds displayed the varying 
tints of a gorgeous sunset. This upper robe was made with 
long train, and was open from waist to hem, showing a 
breadth of embroidered petticoat. Her flowing sleeves and 
gauzy undersleeves revealed glimpses of rounded arms; 
and her dusky hair, worn over a roll high off her forehead; 
was slightly frosted with powder which brought out vividly 
the exquisite tints of her brunette skin and accentuated the 
brilliancy of her dark eyes. 

Ruth Vanarsdale, the demure little Puritan maid, was 
transformed into a dimpling, saucy coquette by her Dolly 
Varden costume. Her dark hair was elaborately curled and 
puffed, her hazel eyes glowed with unwonted brilliancy, 
and her cheeks were the tint of the wild rose. 

No costume Kate Marshall had ever worn became her 
as did the quaint pink berege ; and underneath her excite- 
ment and consciousness of looking her best was, deep down 
in her heart, an undercurrent of shy, sweet happiness. Her 
world was fast narrowing down to the measure of one 
man, Philip Bryce, who was to take her to the concert, and 
whose eyes, as soon as she entered his presence that even- 
ing, spoke eloquently of his love. 

“ ‘Great is Diana of the Ephesians/ ” ejaculated Peter 
Henson, as his daughter, followed by Ruth and Kate, came 
into the parlor. “Why, Di, you look like the Aurora Bore- 
alis. Isn’t that the dress your Grandmother Henson wore 


AN OLD FOLKS’ CONCERT 


131 


to the Lafayette affair? And Ruth, my shy little Ruth r 
you look like a flower garden. And you, Miss Katharine,, 
why — why, you’re a rose-tinted dream of paradise. But 
what ails you two gallants,” he added, turning to Bryce 
and Moreland, who stood by, lost in admiration of the 
three girls, “that you leave me to make all the pretty 
speeches? What is your opinion of that trio of beauty,, 
young gentlemen?” 

“My opinion is,” Mrs. Henson interposed before either 
of the young men could speak, “that it’s time for us to be 
going, if we are to reach the hall in good time.” 

The concert was a glorious success. But why waste 
space in description of it? Hath it not been duly chronicled 
in the Filson County Jupiter of March 18 of that year, 
copies of which are still on file and clippings preserved in 
many old scrap-books? 

Miss* Miller chose for her first selection nothing less 
than Beethoven’s “Moonlight Sonata;” but, as Diana after- 
wards observed to Ruth and Kate, “it might just as well 
have been a ‘Sunlight Mazurka’ or a ‘Midnight Cyclone,’ 
for all the pleasure the audience derived from the perform- 
ance.” 

The next piano solo was Miss Ruby’s. She played 
Mendelssohn’s “Hunting Song” with a perfection of touch 
and a realistic conception which even those of her audience 
who had long recognized her great talent, hardly expected. 
She was greeted with applause so prolonged and so hearty 
that she had to play again — giving as her encore Mertz’ 
arrangement of “Robin Adair,” and playing it exquisitely 
and to the manifest delight of the audience. 

Miss Miller, far from attributing to any defect in her 
own abilities the marked contrast between the tepid interest 
shown by the audience in her performance and the enthusi- 
asm manifested in Miss Ruby’s, evidently thought this con- 


132 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


trast altogether due to lack of artistic perception; for she 
said to Della and Pearl, as Ruby was quitting the stage 
after the encore: “These people can’t appreciate classic 
music, I see. The next time I play, I shall give them a pop- 
ular air, instead of the selection printed on the program.” 

“Pray do so,” urged the two girls. 

Beckoning Shelburn Broadus, whose duty it was to 
announce the different numbers of the program, Cecelia 
held a short, whispered colloquy with him. He then crossed 
out the next selection on the program, opposite the young 
lady’s name, and in its stead hastily jotted down the initials 
“O. B. J.” 

Soon after Ruby Stump had played “Robin Adair,” she 
discovered that she had forgotten to bring the music of her 
next selection. Her boarding-house was but a short dis- 
tance from the hall, and she therefore decided to return for 
the missing piece of music, as she feared no one else would 
be able to find it. At her request, Mr. Broadus accom- 
panied her in search of the lost music. As he was leaving 
the hall he handed his program to John Henson, requesting 
that young man to make the announcements of the differ- 
ent performances during his (Broadus’) absence. 

John in his role of stage manager acquitted himself 
admirably until the time came to announce Miss Miller’s 
second solo. He then found himself in a quandary, as he 
had no idea what the letters “O. B. J.,” which Broadus had 
scrawled on the program, stood for. Miss Miller, antici- 
pating John’s announcement, was already being escorted to 
the piano, by Mr. Bryce. Henson arrested the couple half 
way between the wings and the piano on the front of the 
stage, and, pointing to the initials on the program in his 
hand, made mute inquiry of Miss Miller as to their mean- 
ing. She, misunderstanding his difficulty, merely nodded 
and whispered, “Yes, certainly,” and proceeded on her way 


AN OLD FOLKS' CONCERT 


133 


to the piano. John, rushing back to the wings, appealed to 
the group there assembled. “Say!” he frantically ques- 
tioned, “what in the name of all creation does ‘O. B. J.’ 
stand for?” 

Tom Slocum was the only one of the group who could 
think of any interpretation of the mystic letters; but his 
suggestion that they might signify “Oh, be joyful,” was 
received with scorn, as none of the others had ever heard 
of a musical composition bearing that title. Pearl and 
Della, however, recollected that Miss Miller had said she 
intended playing a popular air, this time ; and with this hint 
to guide him, young Henson returned $o his post. The 
colloquy in the wings had lasted only a brief moment, and 
before either the young lady at the piano or her audience 
had become much embarrassed by the delay, John stepped 
forward and announced, “The gifted pianist, Miss Cecelia 
Miller, will now favor us with a classic arrangement of a 
beautiful air with which all are familiar.” 

By peering through the curtains at the sides of the stage, 
when Miss Miller began playing, some of the members of 
the -club caught a glimpse of the piece she was rendering. 
It was Gimbel’s beautiful and difficult transcription of 
Foster’s popular melody, “Old Black Joe.” The audience, 
however, sat throughout the rendition in puzzled silence, 
and at its conclusion one and all decided that Mr. Henson 
must have been mistaken in announcing, “A familiar air.” 
Even the girls behind the scenes, who had read the title of 
the music, could but wonder, while Cecelia was playing, 
what she had done to “old black Joe.” Now and then, it 
is true, they could catch amid the pellmell rush of her per- 
formance a faint, fleeting glimpse of him ; but, for the 
most part, he was entirely lost in a confused blur of trills 
and chromatics, slurs and interpolations. 

Ruby returned shortly before the time for her to make 


134 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


her next appearance on the stage. Her search for the 
missing sheet of music had proved fruitless, and at Mr. 
Broadus’ urging she decided to play something with which 
she was so familiar that she could dispense with the printed 
copy of it. When her name was called, she, unaware of 
what had been Miss Miller’s last selection, played “Gim- 
bel’s Arrangement of ‘Old Black Joe.’ ” 

While giving exquisitely every turn and trill and embel- 
lishment which Gimbel’s florid fancy had put into the tran- 
scription, she brought out the original melody so perfectly 
that one could actually see bent, gray-haired “old black 
Joe,” and hear his plaintive lament, “Gone are the days,” 
etc. There was no puzzling the audience this time. All 
recognized the dear old air, and again and again Miss 
Ruby was rapturously encored. 

With the exception of Miss Miller’s failure to transport 
her audience with surprise and ecstatic delight over the 
brilliancy of her performance, the concert was in every 
way a complete success, and netted a considerable sum for 
the inhabitants of the flooded district. 


A LITERARY SYMPOSIUM 


135 


CHAPTER XVII. 

A LITERARY SYMPOSIUM. 

One Friday afternoon a few weeks after the concert 
Diana Henson came over to Willow Brook Farm, and 
carried off Kate Marshall to be her guest until Monday. 
On Saturday, Philip Bryce and Ralph Moreland were also 
invited to Rose Lawn for the day. 

That afternoon the young people congregated in the 
library. After a time John, who for the last half-hour had 
been reclining on a couch in an alcove at one side of the 
room, tossed the book he had been reading on a table, and 
came forward. Diana, seated in a willow rocker in the 
center of the room, with some fleecy white crochet work 
in her lap, was winding a skein of zephyr that Ralph More- 
land was holding on his outstretched hands. To their left 
stood Philip leaning on the piano, conversing in low tones 
with Kate, who was seated on the piano stool. Presently 
John, who had taken his stand in front of the grate and 
facing the other occupants of the room, startled them by 
the abrupt announcement, “I think Pll write a book/’ 

The momentary silence which followed this startling 
declaration was broken by Philip Bryce, who asked with 
a show of great interest: “What is to be the nature of this 
masterpiece, John — philosophical, psychological, historical, 
legal or romantic ?” 

“A novel constructed according to latest recipes — a 
measure of philosophy, a modicum of history, a flavor of 
psychology, romance and sentiment galore. Holmes says 
every one has in him the elements of at least one novel,” 
was the answer. 

“If I recollect correctly, Holmes also says that in order 


130 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


to write a good novel, one must first live it,” commented 
Philip. 

“During the last fortnight I’ve lived two or three novels 
in my experience with the adorable Cecelia,” said John. 

“Shall you take Miss Miller as your heroine, Mr. John?” 
was Kate’s natural inquiry. 

“Well, no. My heroine shall be a composite affair like 
those big department stores where one can find anything 
from a sealskin coat to a monkey-wrench. She’ll be a 
compound of all the graces of womankind of all climes and 
periods.” 

“In one chapter she will, I presume, whistle, talk slang; 
smoke cigarettes, ride a bicycle; in another, she’ll advo^ 
cate female suffrage, and disport herself, generally, after 
the manner of the emancipated new woman ; and in still 
other portions of the book she’ll develop as great aptitude 
for sprained ankles, lackadaisical airs, and fainting in her 
lover’s arms, as the most inane damsel in a beginning-of- 
the-century romance,” said Diana, severely. 

“Whatever her airs and graces, there’s one thing she 
shall not do. That’s weep. If her feelings ever get the 
better of her in public (which I hope they won’t), she may 
cry, sob, scream, kick, howl, or do anything but weep. That 
I shall never permit her to do under any circumstances,” 
declared Mr. Henson. 

: Moreland now spoke. “I trust, John, that you will not 
disclose her at any time to her readers with her perfumed 
tresses hanging in wavy masses half-way down to the floor. 
No woman is fit for a heroine unless she can keep her hair 
in. order. Even Eve might have made use of a convenient 
thorn to. coiifine her flowing locks; and in this day of 
ornamental hairpins and side-combs it does seem that any 
woman might keep her hair in coil, but in fiction, I notice, 
the heroine’s hair, upon the slightest provocation, tumbles 


A LITERARY SYMPOSIUM 


137 


all about her. Then, if she must use perfumery, why not 
confine it to her handkerchief? Girls in real life don’t per- 
fume their heads, do they, Miss Diana? It’s bad for the 
hair — dries up its natural oils. Moreover, it is suggestive 
of restoratives, invigorators, and such unguents.” 

“Bay rum is the only perfume my heroine shall use upon 
her hair,” declared the future novelist. “That’s good for 
the scalp. ‘As Alfonza draws Valettas half -reluctant, half- 
yielding, wholly bewitching form into a closer embrace, and 
presses warm kisses on her dewy lips, his nostrils are 
caressed by the elusive, healthful fragrance of bay rum, 
emanating from her silken tresses !’ ” He drew an envelope 
from his pocket, as he spoke, and scribbled on it, then read 
aloud: “‘Item — Bay rum for heroine's hair !” 

“Your hero is to be an epitome of every masculine per- 
fection, I presume,” remarked Mr. Bryce, tentatively. 

“Without doubt,” was the ready reply. 

“If that be the case,” said Moreland, “perhaps it is 
unnecessary that he be warned against one pernicious habit 
of the ordinary hero of fiction ; namely, chewing his ‘long, 
silky mustache.’ If your heroine is a lady of sense, she 
won’t like him to do that.” 

“Pshaw, Moreland, only old fogies and ex-Confederate 
majors and colonels wear mustaches nowadays. The rest 
of the world is smooth-shaven,” retorted John. 

“I hope, Mr. John, that you will occasionally permit 
your hero to take a seat,” was Miss Marshall’s remark. 

“ ‘Take a seat’?” John repeated inquiringly. 

“Yes,” answered Kate, “ ‘take a seat’ like a self-respect- 
ing mortal should do, instead of ‘throwing himself into a 
f aiiteuV or ‘flinging his manly form’ upon the turf, as novel 
heroes are usually reported as doing.” 

“And, if he must use expletives, at least make him 
eschew that hackneyed ‘By Jove !’ and try instead, ‘By Uncle 


138 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


Sam!’ ‘By Plymouth Rock!' ‘By Grover Cleveland!’ or 
some other exclamation that is modern and consistent with 
the spirit of a loyal American,” suggested Ralph. 

“What a pack of silly ducks you people are !” John 
disgustedly exclaimed. 

“My brother is nothing if not original,” observed Diana. 
“Now, to the conventional mind a collection of ducks con- 
stitutes a flock, not a pack.” 

“John’s peculiar use of the word ‘pack’ may be due to 
his musical ear, which causes him to confuse the words 
‘pack’ and ‘quack’,” suggested Philip. 

“At any rate, you folks do quack a pack of nonsense,” 
rejoined Mr. Henson. 

“That shows our superiority as conversationalists,” 
blandly asserted Mr. Bryce. “Any one can talk sense, 
but it takes a highly accomplished person to talk nonsense 
sensibly.” 

“Another pointer for your novel, John, is this,” said 
Ralph. “No matter how addicted your lovers may be to 
the ‘meet-me-by-moonlight’ act, don’t allow them to take 
moonlit walks every evening for four consecutive weeks, 
as I once read of a pair of lovers doing.” 

“Your criticisms, good people, are like apples of Sodom 
in pictures of Gomorrah,” said the would-be author. “But 
though on my corns ye envious critics tread, a wreath of 
bay will soon adorn my head. With my customary prompt- 
ness I’ll set to work this very evening, and before the 
next glad New Year is ushered in, your spirit of scoffing 
will be exchanged for the garment of praise; for my book 
will be out.” 

“If so, the publishers will bestir themselves considerably 
beyond anything I’ve ever known them to do,” remarked 
Ralph Moreland. 

“Why, yes ! they’ll be anxious to get the story upon the 


A LITERARY SYMPOSIUM 


139 


market in time for the holiday trade,” artlessly explained 
young Henson. 

“What castles fair his fancy reared, 

Ere 1 rejection slips' his hopes had seared !” 

improvised the preacher. 

“You and Moreland seem to have made an exhaustive 
study of the tricks and manners of publishers. I believe 
you’ve both, at some time or another, been badly bitten 
with the scribbling mania,” declared John. 

“Well, I could a tale unfold,” laughingly confessed the 
doctor. 

“And I, a poem or two reveal (that is, if I hadn’t de- 
stroyed them),” added the preacher. 

“Kate, too, looks guilty,” said Miss Henson. 

“So it seems that every one of this quintette has, at 
some period or other, been afflicted with the ‘cacoethes 
scribendi ” said Moreland, with an air of conviction. 

“Not I !” dissented Diana. “One literary light is all the 
House of Henson can afford. John absorbs all the talent 
of the family.” 

“Honest confession is good for the liver! Let’s resolve 
ourselves into an experience meeting. Who’ll be the first 
to speak?” said John. 

“Beauty before age! Miss Marshall first!” the doctor 
made haste to say. “Now, my dear young lady,” he con- 
tinued, “don’t look so frightened; you’re among friends 
and fellow-sinners, you know.” 

“But none of you have been guilty of such atrocious 
folly as I have,” she replied. 

“Your humility is a very hopeful sign. Proceed, please,” 
urged John. 

Kate proceeded: “The head and front of my offending 
was the title of my first, last and only literary effort, ' Stolen 
Waters are Sweet!’ I had heard the quotation somewhere, 


140 THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 

and considered it both classical and catchy. My sense of 
humor being in a very undeveloped stage, I failed to 
perceive that, however inapplicable to my plot, the title 
was nevertheless appropriate as descriptive of my literary 
methods, which, if not sweet, were certainly stolen. There 
wasn’t an original thought in the whole story.” 

“‘There was nothing original in her, except original 
sin/ ” quoted Miss Henson, musingly. 

“Worse still,” continued Kate, “it was a secret sin, for 
without a word to any one I launched my frail bark upon 
its first cruise.” 

“If originality was lacking in your story, it undoubtedly 
manifested itself in that act, for surely yours is the first 
case on record of a young writer’s sending forth a maiden 
effort without first displaying its beauties to an admiring 
family and a score of confidential friends,” was Moreland’s 
verdict. 

“What success had you with your manuscript?” asked 
Philip. 

She replied: “It traveled east, west, north, south. Story 
papers, agricultural journals, scientific magazines, semi-do* 
mestic, semi-artistic periodicals and pedagogical journals 
were each in turn allowed a sip at my ‘Stolen Waters.’ If 
I am ever tempted to write another story, it shall be entitled 
‘In Quest of a Publisher.’ ” 

“Good!” ejaculated Ralph. “That reminds me of my — 

“Miss Marshall is occupying the confessional at present, 
Moreland. Proceed, Miss Katharine,” urged Mr. Henson. 

“Was your story at last accepted?” asked Diana. 

“Oh, no. Upon returning from its twentieth trip, it 
expired. I cremated the remains. I’m deeply penitent, and 
promise never to be guilty of another story.” 

“Sir Philip Sidney Bryce, it’s now your turn,” said 
John. “Did you try to emulate your illustrious namesake. 


A LITERARY SYMPOSIUM 


141 


in the production of poems or essays; or did you err in the 
direction of political papers?” 

“Mine was a sin against poesy,” confessed Philip. “It- 
was six years ago, in my first year in college. I was home- 
sick; and, seeing how little you Americans knew of the 
glories of my native land, I selected Australia as the theme 
of my song. I wrote an epic the like of which has never 
been since the days of Pindar.” 

“But Pindar was a lyric, not an epic, poet,” objected 
Moreland. 

“True!” acknowledged Bryce. “I was thinking of 
Homer. My poem combined the heroic stateliness of the 
Homeric epic with the grace of the Pindaric lyric.” 

“How fared your poem in its quest for a publisher?” 
inquired Miss Henson. 

“What snatched me back just when I was on the very 
threshold of a brilliant career was a ‘specific criticism/ ” he 
answered. 

“A ‘specific criticism’?” asked Diana. 

He explained: “In the printed formula accompanying 
the various home-comings of my poem, the editor, after 
saying that although the article was not adapted to the 
needs of his periodical, its rejection did not necessarily 
imply lack of merit, et cetera, would beg that in view of 
the large number of manuscripts submitted to him, he 
might be excused from sending ' specific criticism .’ ‘What 
manner of thing was a specific criticism?’ I began asking 
myself, after receiving about a dozen rejection slips. I 
had heard of Swift’s Specific. That was a blood purifier. 
Perhaps this specific criticism was a literary lotion which,, 
being applied to manuscripts, removed defects of com- 
plexion, such as imperfect syntax, bad meter, and ortho- 
graphical acne. Or it might be a tonic to remedy some 
weakness of the internal economy of a poem. I therefore 


142 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


wrote various publishers, asking for a trial bottle of this 
specific. Result : either complete silence or another of those 
hated slips, with deep lines underscoring the words, ‘We 
beg to be excused from sending specific criticism ! Finally, 
however, perseverance was rewarded.” 

“Your poem was accepted?” asked Kate. 

“No, but something equally wonderful happened. A 
certain editor did that which is, I believe, without parallel 
in the annals of journalism. He sent a specific criticism.” 

Moreland, hastily producing note-book and pencil, 
eagerly demanded, “Name of editor, please.” 

“I shall withhold his name lest his den be presently 
inundated with manuscripts,” firmly answered Philip. 

“But the criticism ?” Katharine inquired. 

Bryce answered : “Only this : ‘Joshua, twenty-second 
chapter, twenty-seventh verse! ” 

“Please quote the passage, Mr. Bryce,” they all urged. 

He did so : “ ‘Do the service of the Lord with a burnt 
offering! It was,” he admitted, “a hard saying, but worthy 
oi acceptation. It wrought a complete cure. Since then 
I have eschewed poetry writing.” 

John, who a few moments before this had resumed his 
position on the couch in the alcove, at this juncture mur- 
mured enigmatically : “ ‘Antelope, horoscope, blessed hope, 
ope, scope/ ” 

Ralph and Diana were talking apart, and did not hear 
this apparently meaningless murmur. Kate, although she 
tried to appear engrossed in a search for a sheet of music, 
not only heard what John said, but she likewise noted the 
startled look in Philip’s eyes and the dark flush on his face 
as he, after giving her an apprehensive glance, turned 
threateningly toward the alcove with an expression of 
countenance and a gesture of his clenched hands that boded 
no good to the occupant of the couch. 


A LITERARY SYMPOSIUM 


143 


John, undaunted by the minister’s look and attitude, 
went on musingly: “Time : — Only three days since. Setting 
of drama : — The lawn at Elmarch. Scene : — A young man 
with straw hat shading his eyes, pencil in hand, writing- 
tablet on knee, lolling under a stately elm, inditing ‘A 
sonnet to his mistress’ eyebrow ;’ another youth who, having 
come to Elmarch on an errand to his aunt, steals up, and, 
glancing over the poet’s shoulder, is an unseen witness to 
his fruitless endeavor to find a rhyme for heliotrope.” 

Philip, looking as if he had a whole torture-chamber 
of verbal branding-irons which he longed to apply to the 
mendacious John, said nothing; but, after gazing at his 
tormentor a moment, turned his eyes again toward Miss 
Marshall, who, although her face was deeply flushed, ap- 
peared more than ever intent on finding that missing piece 
of music. 

Miss Henson, who had missed the late byplay, now 
recollecting her duties as hostess, arose, and suggested that 
before they settled down to listening to Dr. Moreland’s 
literary experiences, they should refresh themselves with 
some music. 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


144 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

“ranting ’round in pleasure’s ring.” 

But pleasures are like poppies spread, 

You seize the flower, its bloom is shed ; 

Or like the snowfalls in the river, 

A moment white — then gone forever. 

— Robert Bums. 

Philip Bryce, at this time, was far from realizing that, 
in taking upon himself the duties and obligations of a min- 
ister of the gospel, he should relinquish many pursuits and 
predilections which, while of themselves entirely innocent, 
were at the same time incompatible with the nature of his 
position. 

As spring approached, others besides the hotel sisters 
and the Fowlers, while they freely admitted that he ap- 
parently left undone none of his clerical duties, and that 
his preaching attracted large audiences, began to have mis- 
givings as to the propriety of his following quite so freely 
the bent of his social inclinations. Moreover, a few of the 
more thoughtful were beginning also to have grave doubts 
as to the soundness of some of his religious views, and to 
shake their heads over what they began to fear was the 
trend of some of his teachings. Of this last, however, he 
was entirely unaware, but to an extent he did suspect that 
some of the graver members of his church did not wholly 
approve of his proneness to social pleasures. During his 
five years’ college course he had been in large measure 
deprived of social relaxations ; therefore, it was but natural 
that he should now greatly enjoy taking part in the innocent 
gayeties of the pleasant little village. But a life is beautiful 
and symmetrical to just the extent that it is in accord with 
its duties and obligations ; and the young minister’s constant 


“ RANTING IN PLEASURE'S RING'' 


145 


participation in these pastimes was in a measure unfitting 
him for the more sacred duties of his calling, and was to 
some extent detrimental to his spiritual influence — not be- 
cause these pleasures were of themselves harmful, even for 
a young clergyman to indulge in, but because this particular 
clergyman, even while participating in them, suspected that 
in so doing he was running counter to the opinions of some 
of his warmest friends among the older members of his 
congregation. 

The Townsends, who lived in a grand old mansion in 
the suburbs of Durritt, issued invitations to a big social 
function for one Friday night in April. Nearly all of the 
invited guests were from Louisville or Dufritt, and, of the 
Ginseng social circle, only Diana and John Henson, Kate 
Marshall, Ralph Moreland and Philip Bryce were favored 
with invitations. 

Philip at first hesitated, but finally made up his mind to 
attend. He then wrote Miss Marshall, asking that he 
might be her escort for the occasion ; but she had made a 
previous engagement with John Henson, and Harry Syl- 
vester, a young society favorite of Louisville, forestalled 
Ralph in engaging Diana’s company. The two disappointed 
swains now cared -nothing for the Townsends’ party, but 
as they had already accepted their invitations, they decided 
to attend. 

As the Rose Lawn carriage containing Kate and Diana, 
John and Sylvester was driving to the Townsends the 
night of the party, John casually remarked, “There’s to be 
dancing to-night.” 

“Oh, surely not!” Kate hurriedly rejoined. “This is 
to be a formal reception, you know. The cards made no 
mention of dancing.” 

“Nevertheless, dancing is to be the order of the even 
ing,” John declared. 


140 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


You should have told us sooner, John,” said his sister, 
with some vexation. 

“You certainly should have done so, Mr. Henson,” said 
Kate, gravely. “Why didn’t you?” 

“Simply because I wanted you to come ; and I knew 
that if you learned it was to be a ball, you two girls would 
have conscientious scruples, or some other ailment, and 
decline to grace the assembly with your presence.” 

Kate was too troubled and perplexed to make rejoinder, 
but Diana exclaimed: “What a predicament for Mr. Bryce 
to be in, if he is here to-night. I wonder if he accepted his 
invitation.” 

“No, I’m pretty sure he did not,” answered John. 

After a moment Diana said gayly: “Well, at any rate, 
now that I have come, I mean to break over for once, and 
dance. I’ve no fancy for the role of wall-flower. What 
say you, Kate?” 

“I shall assuredly not dance,” was the emphatic reply. 

“But why not, Miss Marshall?” expostulated Mr. Syl- 
vester. “You don’t rate the terpsichorean art among the 
high crimes and misdemeanors, do you?” 

“It’s not so much how I estimate it as it is how Mr. and 
Mrs. Bright regard it,” answered the -young lady, telling 
only half the truth; since she was thinking more of Mr. 
Bryce’s opinion than of what the Brights would think. 

Sylvester was silenced, but Henson answered reassur- 
ingly: “Don’t worry; I’ll straighten the matter up with the 
Brights. So, ‘On with the dance! Let joy be unconfined.’ 
You’re going to have the time of your life to-night. See 
if you don’t.” 

Nevertheless, Katharine entered the house fully de- 
termined that she would take no part in the dancing festiv- 
ities. 

A few minutes later, she and Diana, having removed 


' RANTING IN PLEASURE'S RING" 


147 


< « 


their wraps and touched up their toilettes, descended from 
the dressing-room. Just as they reached the foot of the 
stairway where John and Mr. Sylvester awaited them, Kate 
remembered that she had left upon the dressing-table up- 
stairs her rings, which she had slipped from her hands be- 
fore drawing on her gloves. With a word of explanation, 
she asked the others to wait in the hall, and she then sped 
upstairs again. No one was in the dressing-room, and, 
gathering up her rings, she passed on through an open door 
into the dimly lit adjoining apartment, improvised into a 
cloakroom for the evening, to place the rings in the pocket 
of her ulster. 

While she was trying to disentangle the ulster from the 
multifarious assortment of cloaks, jackets, coats, opera 
capes, fascinators, clouds and hoods upon the bed, a bevy 
of girls entered the dressing-room. Thinking they had 
that part of the house to themselves, they chattered unre- 
strainedly while waiting for the next dance and repairing 
damages done to complexions, coiffures and gowns by the 
last. 

Kate, from where she stood, was unperceived by the 
girls, but she could see them plainly. They were strangers 
to her. She went on searching for her ulster, giving no 
heed to their talk, until one of them, who, powder-puff 
in hand, was standing before the mirror, exclaimed: “I 
wonder if that handsome young Ginseng clergyman that 
Clare Townsend raves about has come yet. I know he’s 
expected, for he accepted the invitation.” 

“The idea of a preacher at a ball!” ejaculated a second 
girl. 

“Oh, but the joke is that he didn’t suspect it’s being a 
ball. Clare is too cute for that,” rejoined the first speaker. 
“Do you know, she actually had two sets of invitation cards 
printed. Those she sent to Louisville and Durritt people 


148 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


said 'Dancing,' you recollect; but the four or five cards 
sent her Ginseng friends made no mention of dancing. 
And, would you believe it, all this maneuvering was for 
the sole purpose of fooling this clergyman-^Burrson or 
Bryson, no, Bryce — into coming. She even went to the 
length of writing Harry Sylvester, who she knew would 
try to engage Di Henson’s company, asking him not to hint 
to Di about the dancing to-night. Harry, who is dead gone 
on Miss Henson, gladly obeyed the request, lest Di, who is a 
strict church-member, should decline coming.” 

“Upon my word!” exclaimed another girl. “Clare must 
be far gone on this ministerial Adonis to go to such lengths 
as that. What’s more, she’ll have her trouble for nothing, 
for Miss Marshall’s here. I saw her getting out of the 
Henson carriage half an hour ago while I was promenading 
with Jack Harcourt.” 

“Miss Marshall? And who might she be?” asked an- 
other girl. 

“She’s the young^lady who is teaching at Ginseng, and 
who, if reports be true, has captured this Reverend Bryce.” 

“Pshaw!” scornfully exclaimed the girl at the mirror. 
“As if the handsome Miss Townsend, who belongs to one 
of the most exclusive cliques of society, would fear this chit 
of a country schoolteacher. She’s something in spectacles, 
I suppose, with uncrimped hair, prim, schoolmarrrty ways, 
and with no style or go about her.” 

“Not so insignificant, my dear, as you might think,” the 
other answered. “I heard her sing at a concert at Ginseng 
not long ago, and she has a beautiful face and a lovely 
voice.” 

The girl at the mirror rejoined : “Well, admitting her 
pretty face and voice, and even admitting that in the 
scarcity of village attractions she has found favor in this 
preacher’s eyes, Miss Townsend will soon put a spoke in 


“ RANTING IN PLEASURE'S RING " 


149 


her wheel, so far as this clerical prize is concerned. I 
really feel sorry for the poor thing, she’ll be so utterly out 
of the fun to-night; for, of course, she won’t dance or play 
cards or anything of that sort, if she’s entertaining hopes of 
a ministerial career.” 

“As to that,” chimed in another speaker, “I don’t sup- 
pose she knows a two-step from a cotillion or the trey of 
spades from the jack of diamonds.” 

“But neither does this preacher dance or play cards, I 
presume,” said a third. “So it seems to me that Clare’s 
clever little scheme is by way of putting a spoke in her own 
wheel, instead of in that of her rival. As neither preacher 
nor schoolmarm can take part in the dance or the card 
games, they’ll be thrown all the more into each other’s com- 
pany. That is, if he doesn’t leave the house as soon as he 
discovers what kind of entertainment it’s to be; and if he’s 
much of a man, he’ll do so, in spite of the fascinating 
Clare.” 

“Clare will attend to that. She’ll keep him here, and, 
furthermore, she won’t allow the village teacher to monop- 
olize him, either. She’ll turn her privileges as hostess to 
good account, and while most of her guests are ‘tripping the 
light fantastic,’ she’ll be promenading with the parson in 
some dim corridor or making eyes at him in some se- 
questered nook. I know Clare and her tricks.” 

“Well,” chimed in another girl, “if this Mister Preacher- 
man is so adorably fascinating as to be worth all this 
scheming on the part of our hostess, I shan’t mind taking 
a stroll or sitting out a dance or two with him myself, 
Clare sha’n’t keep him in her pocket all evening, I promise 
you.” 

At this moment the band of musicians in the ballroom 
struck up the inspiriting air of a popular waltz, and the 
girls hurried downstairs, leaving Miss Marshall still in the 


150 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


seclusion of the cloakroom, with her feelings much nettled 
and her pride more piqued than she should have allowed 
it to be over the senseless chatter of the feather-headed 
society darlings. As soon as the coast was clear she came 
into the dressing-room, and, after a short session of prink- 
ing at the toilet table, she, too, descended to the hall. 

“What in the world kept you so long?” was John’s im- 
patient salutation as she joined him in the hall. “Di and 
Harry have been in the ballroom this half-hour. I was 
about to raise the alarm, and have search instituted for 
you.” 

She made no answer, and he, looking keenly at her, 
said : “Look here, my dear girl, you surely don’t mean to 
punish me, and yourself too, by moping in a corner all 
evening, do you?” 

Her head tossed defiantly, her eyes shone brilliantly, and 
her cheeks glowed as she answered: “Indeed, I do not. I 
mean to dance every number — that is, if I’m so fortunate 
as to secure partners.” 

“I’ll see to that,” he delightedly assured her. “The very 
idea of your having any scarcity of partners! Why, don’t 
you know,” he said in his blunt, boyish way, as he offered 
her his arm to the parlors, “you’re far and away the pret- 
tiest girl here? And you’re going to have a sumptuous 
time, too. Come on, don’t let’s waste any more precious 
moments.” 

Bryce and Moreland had reached the house a short time 
before the arrival of the party from Rose Lawn. Philip 
got out of the buggy, under the porte cochere, and Ralph 
drove on into Durritt to execute a commission at the drug- 
store there, intending to return in half an hour. Bryce 
went into the house and made his way upstairs to the men’s 
dressing-room. In his progress toward the stairway at the 
end of the long hall extending the entire length of the 


“RANTING IN PLEASURE'S RING" 


151 


lower floor, he saw and heard enough of what was passing 
in the different rooms opening into the hall to greatly sur- 
prise and disturb him. He resolved to leave the house im- 
mediately after Moreland should return with their buggy. 
While he was still upstairs, John Henson and Harry Syl- 
vester entered the dressing-room. Philip drew John aside 
and told him of his intention. John agreed as to the ad- 
visability of Bryce’s quitting the place, and he said that he 
would have warned Philip beforehand of the character of 
the entertainment, had it not been that he thought Philip 
had declined the invitation. 

“But, Henson,” said Bryce, “this is no proper place for 
your sister or Miss Marshall, or for you, either, for that 
matter.” 

“Oh, come now !” John returned. “That’s going a little 
too far. I admit the force of your scruples so far as they 
relate to your remaining here ; but as for Diana and Miss 
Kate and myself, a dancing party isn’t so very objectionable 
an amusement.” 

“But dancing is by no means the worst of this affair,” 
answered Philip, speaking in a low tone so as not to be 
heard by the other men in the room. “If that were all, I 
shouldn’t perhaps be justified in advising you as regards 
your sister and Miss Marshall ; but drinking, card-playing 
and gambling are going on here, and I know your father 
and mother will be greatly troubled if you allow the two 
young ladies under your charge to remain.” 

Just then Moreland entered. He, too, had learned 
enough about what was going on in the house to cause him 
to readily join Philip in trying to persuade John to go. 
Finally, he and John went down to consult the two girls, 
while Bryce waited upstairs. Presently Moreland returned, 
saying that Diana and John had decided to stay, and that 
Kate had not yet made her appearance in the parlors. 


152 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


Philip was in a quandary. He owed it to his position 
and to his congregation to leave at once ; and he thought 
he owed it to the girl he loved to try to persuade her to go. 
He lingered upstairs in the dressing-room until the cessa- 
tion of the music below advised him that the dancing, too, 
had ceased for awhile, and then went down to the parlors 
in search of Kate. She and John were standing near one 
of the doors leading into the hall from the parlors, talking 
to a man to whom she had just engaged herself for the 
next set. Philip walked up to them, and asked Kate to 
promenade with him. After a momentary hesitation, she 
consented to his request. 

With his hand at her elbow, he piloted her through the 
crowded hall, on out through the veranda to the grounds. 
When they had reached a spot where they would be secure 
from interruption, he said, “Pm sorry to see you here 
to-night, Miss Katharine.” 

The remembrance of the conversation she had overheard 
between the Louisville girls made her eyes snap angrily as 
she retorted, “You are pleased to be extremely compli- 
mentary, Mr. Bryce.” 

“Pray don’t misunderstand me,” he pleaded earnestly. 
“I meant no discourtesy — surely you will believe that. I 
was prompted in what I said solely by the deep interest I 
feel in you.” 

“Thank you,” she returned, “and permit me to say that 
the deep interest I take in you causes me to regret your 
presence here to-night. What will your board of church 
officers think when they learn that their minister has graced 
a ball with his presence ?” 

He explained, what she already knew, that he had been 
misled as to the nature of the entertainment. He also told 
her that he intended leaving immediately, and that he had 
only delayed going in order that he might first have a word 


“ RANTING IN PLEASURE’S RING ” 


153 


with her. “And now,” he continued, “I beg that you permit 
me to take you home at once.” 

“Really, Mr. Bryce,” she said in surprise, “aside from 
what my escort would think of my doing as you have asked, 
I see no reason why I should hurry off in that way. I don’t 
consider my dancing a very grave misdemeanor.” 

“This isn’t the time nor place to argue whether dancing 
be wrong or right,” he said in a more peremptory tone than 
the occasion warranted. “But aside from that subject, I’m 
convinced of that of which you are, of course, yet unaware ; 
namely, that very soon this will be no fit place for you or 
any other lady.” 

“I insist upon your explaining that extraordinary state- 
ment, Mr. Bryce,” she said with pardonable heat. 

“Card-playing, gambling and wine-drinking are going 
on even now in some of the rooms; and, unless I’m much 
out of my reckoning, this gathering will become presently 
a very riotous affair. Dr. Moreland thinks exactly as I do 
about it, and he, too, feels a degree of responsibility about 
you and Miss Diana and John. We’ve seen John, and have 
tried to persuade him to our way of thinking, but we have 
failed to convince him.” 

“What does Diana say? Have you spoken to her?” 
Kate asked. 

“Moreland talked with her before you came downstairs ; 
but she, as is natural, I suppose, is more influenced by her 
brother and Mr. Sylvester than by anything Moreland and 
I can say. Hence, she elects to remain. That, however, 
needn’t deter you from leaving. Ralph will relinquish his 
place in our buggy to you. He says he can go to a hotel or 
stay the night with some of his Durritt friends. So, if you 
will allow me to do so, I shall be glad to take you home. 
Will you go?” 

She thanked him, but declined. “As Diana has decided 


J54 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


to stay until the entertainment is over/’ she said, “I must 
do so, too. It would be much more unseemly for me to 
leave her here than for me to remain with her — to say 
nothing of my offending Mr. Henson, as I undoubtedly 
should do were I to go with you now.” 

“As to that, I am sure I can make it all right with him,” 
urged Philip. 

Katharine thought Philip to some extent mistaken as to 
what the entertainment was likely to become, and further- 
more she felt that in any case she would hardly be justified 
in leaving unless Diana could be persuaded to accompany 
her. But her manner of arguing this point with the young 
man was not as courteous and gentle as it might have been. 
She would doubtless have listened more kindly to his per- 
suasions had it not been that the talk she had overheard in 
the dressing-room made her hard and defiant, and bent on 
showing those supercilious Louisville girls that she, if she 
chose, could be as much of a society belle as any of them- 
selves. 

Bryce was at last convinced that it was best for her to 
remain if Diana did ; but he was greatly annoyed over the 
whole matter, and much hurt by her manner — so different 
from her usual gentle courtesy. After a brief silence he 
said : “At any rate, I must go now ; but, first, I want to ask 
another favor of you. May I?” 

“What is it?” 

“That you do not dance any more round dances,” was 
his prompt reply. 

She recalled what one of the Louisville girls had said 
about her not knowing a two-step from a cotillion, and the 
recollection of that unkind remark now rendered her im- 
pervious to Mr. Bryce’s persuasions. “Dancing is dancing, 
whether it be round or square, oblong or cater-cornered,” 
she said flippantly. 


“ RANTING IN PLEASURE'S RING ” 155 


“But — but if I ask you for my sake to decline round 
dances, what then?” he rejoined pleadingly. 

“But why such a request ?” she persisted. 

“Because I — I — simply can’t abide the thought of your 
gliding around a ballroom in the arms of any of — of these 
young men,” was his confused, stammering, but most heart- 
felt answer. 

She again thought of what the girls in the dressing- 
room had said, and the thought hardened her heart against 
the young man’s pleadings. “I decline to be dictated to by 
you or any one else, Mr. Bryce, as to whom I dance with or 
as to what I shall or shall not do,” she declared with a 
defiant toss of her head. 

Excited and exasperated though she was, she knew very 
well that there was nothing of dictation in what he had said. 
She regretted her words as soon as they were uttered, but 
it was too late to modify or retract her cutting speech. He 
was now, she saw, in no mood to listen to her. 

“Ah !” he replied, as soon as he could command his voice 
sufficiently to speak in a tone of cold politeness, “I see that 
I have made a mistake. Shall I take you back to the ball- 
room, Miss Marshall? I crave your pardon for detaining 
you so long from the em — from your eager partners.” 

Ignoring his arm, she fled past him up the walk, through 
the veranda and into the hall, where Tom Evans, with 
whom she had engaged for the next set, was anxiously 
looking for her. As she entered the parlors on his arm, 
she saw in the large mirror over the mantel opposite the 
door the reflection of a stately young woman in pale blue 
silk evening costume — head erect, eyes flashing, cheeks 
glowing — whom, for the moment, she failed to recognize as 
herself. 

Ralph Moreland did not leave when Philip Bryce did. 
He, however, never came near Diana or Kate the whole 


156 


THE MAN FROM A US TRALIA 


evening. During the greater part of the time he stood in 
a doorway or some window recess, with folded arms and 
stern brow, and with fierce eyes bent on Diana and Harry 
Sylvester. 

If Miss Henson noticed Ralph’s behavior, she gave no 
sign. She had never appeared in more radiant spirits than 
now, as she danced and flirted with Mr. Sylvester or with 
others of her admirers who sought her smiles. John noticed 
and was annoyed by the doctor’s manner, so little in keeping 
with the scene around him. “Why,” he commented to Miss 
Marshall, “doesn’t Moreland leave the house or else join the 
other non-dancing guests in some other room, instead of 
making such a guy of himself, by glowering at the dancers 
as though he’d like to massacre the whole lot of us?” John, 
however, knew full well what ailed the doctor. 

“He’s jealous, I suppose, because Di came with Mr. 
Sylvester,” returned Kate, feeling that some answer was 
expected of her. 

“Is that jealousy? It looks more like an attack of the 
rabies,” retorted Henson. 

The supper furnished by a caterer from Louisville was 
a sumptuous repast, providing not only the most epicurean 
of edibles, but also wines in abundance; and as the feast 
progressed it was evident that not only many of the young 
men, but also quite a number of the young women, were 
taking more champagne than w T as good for them. 

After supper the fun, even in the parlors, became fast 
and furious^ and so much like a drunken revel that Kate 
had to acknowledge to herself that Mr. Bryce’s prediction 
was being fulfilled. Diana and John were not slow in ar- 
riving at the same conclusion ; and soon after midnight the 
quartet from Rose Lawn departed. 

“Well, Katharine,” said Diana with assumed gayety, as 
they were driving homeward, “sensible and staid as you are, 


“ RANTING IN PLEASURE’S RING” 157 

your head would be turned, were I to tell you half the com- 
pliments I heard on you to-night. You were the belle of 
the ball.” 

“There were two belles,” gallantly spake Sylvester; 
“for, great as Miss Marshall’s attractions undoubtedly are,. 
Miss Henson is second to no one.” 

“Yes,” graciously assented John, “I’m ‘primmed up with 
majestic pride,’ worse than that little ‘Marjorie Fleming’ 
was, having in charge two such charming girls as Miss 
Marshall and Miss Henson.” 

“Why so silent?” he presently inquired of Kate, who 
had spoken very little thus far on the homeward drive. 
“Are you asleep, and living over again in your dreams your 
wonderful triumphs at this never-to-be-forgotten ball?” 

“I’m more concerned about what I’m to say to Mr. and 
Mrs. Bright to-morrow than about any fancied triumphs 
of the ball,” she made answer. 

“ ‘Catching is before killing,’ ” airily replied young Hen- 
son ; “and if you’ll lay low, it’s ten to one the Brights will 
never hear of this escapade — not, however, that they’d take 
on at any terrible rate if they did hear of it. They’re too 
kind-hearted and easy-going for that. Besides, they’re not 
your guardians.” 

“Oh, they are certain to find it out,” said Diana, “and, 
if I were you, Kate, I’d tell them at once. That’s the way 
I’m going to do with dad and mother; and they are as 
opposed to church-members dancing as Mr. and Mrs. 
Bright are. So, cheer up, old sobersides. The Brights are, 
as John says, too kind to say anything very scathing.” 

“This air a hard, hard world, and few of us gits out of 
it alive!” ejaculated John, the irrepressible, in a lugubrious 
tone. “What a fuss about a little innocent amusement! 
You two girls talk as if you had been guilty of a capital 
offense.” 


158 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


CHAPTER XIX. 

FLEETFOOT TO THE RESCUE. 

The road from Durritt to Ginseng led past Robert 
Mason’s house ; and as Philip Bryce was driving home that 
Friday night from Townsends’, he, noticing that the par- 
lor, hall and sitting-room of the Mason homestead were 
still lighted, thought it well to stop and have a word with 
this one of his church officers. Della Mason was entertain- 
ing a caller in the parlor, and her father, who answered 
Philip’s ring, led him into the sitting-room, where sat Mrs. 
Mason. 

The young man was greatly comforted when Mr. and 
Mrs. Mason, after he had told them where he had been 
and why he had left so early, exonerated him from all 
blame. He also told them he intended seeing as many of 
the church-members as he could, next day, to explain his 
conduct to them. Mason, however, reminded him of the 
officers’ meeting next afternoon, and said that would be 
the best opportunity for making the explanation. 

Peter Henson, as well as Robert Mason, was most cor- 
dial in his greeting of Philip when at two o’clock Saturday 
afternoon he entered the room where the board held its 
meetings ; but he saw from the grieved look on the faces 
of Milton Bright, Jacob Foster and old Dr. Clark that they 
had already heard about the affair of the previous night. 
Accordingly, without waiting for other business to be 
brought before the board, he began his explanation, which 
was heard without interruption. When it was finished, 
Milton Bright, with a smile in his kindly eyes and a look 
of relief on his face, was about to speak, but was fore- 
stalled by Jacob Foster, who, still looking stern and uncom- 


FLEETFOOT TO THE RESCUE 


159 


promising, said, “In the first place, Brother Bryce, if you 
will excuse my plain speaking, you shouldn’t have accepted 
an invitation to any kind of a to-do at so worldly a house 
as Jasper Townsend’s.” 

At this, both Bright and Henson looked apprehensively 
at Philip, but wisely held their peace until Foster should 
have finished. 

Foster continued : “And you shouldn’t have stopped 
one moment in that house after you discovered what was 
going on there. Every minute you stayed compromised 
your position and the church the more, and made the mat- 
ter harder to set right to outsiders.” 

The young preacher flushed painfully, but was silent, 
and Mason exclaimed quickly : “You forget, Brother Fos- 
ter, that Moreland had gone on into Durritt with Brother 
Bryce’s buggy. You wouldn’t have had Brother Philip to 
foot it all the way from Townsends’ to Ginseng — six miles 
and more — at that time of night, would you?” 

Foster, although narrow and prejudiced, was a sin- 
cere, conscientious man ; moreover, he was fond of Philip 
Bryce. He, therefore, brightened considerably at this rep- 
resentation of the matter, and in a more cordial tone 
exclaimed : “I had overlooked that point. But,” he con- 
tinued after a moment — his worried look returning as he 
spoke — “if I haven’t misunderstood you. Brother Bryce, 
you said you didn’t leave immediately after Dr. Moreland 
came back from Durritt.” 

Feeling some delicacy in saying anything which would 
seem to exonerate himself at the expense of others, Bryce 
hardly knew what answer to make; but Mr. Henson 
instantly came to his relief by saying: “I see you don’t 
yet quite understand this matter, Brother Foster. When 
you do, I know so sensible and just a man as yourself will 
admit that this young man” (as he spoke, he laid a hand 


160 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


affectionately on Bryce’s shoulder) “has acted with the 
utmost generosity and consideration. The fact is, Foster, 
the real culprits in this affair — as I learned this morning 
from their own lips — are my son and daughter. They say 
that Brother Bryce waited at the party last night only until 
he could hunt them up, in order to try to persuade them to 
leave. They are, as I told them plainly, greatly to blame 
for not heeding his advice ; but as for Brother Bryce, now 
that you understand the situation, you will agree with the 
rest of us that he should not be censured. As for me,” he 
added, smiling genially upon the young man, “I thank him 
sincerely for his kind intervention in behalf of my two 
thoughtless children.” 

Peter Henson probably had more influence over Jacob 
Foster than had any other human being. Furthermore, 
Foster’s hearty liking for his minister made him the more 
ready in this instance to overlook anything indiscreet in 
that minister’s conduct. 

When the other business of the afternoon had been 
transacted, the meeting adjourned. While Bright, Henson 
and Bryce still lingered in the room after the other men 
had gone, Henson gently intimated that for the future it 
might be advisable for Bryce to abstain from participating 
in too many social affairs. “I don’t,” said the elder, “mean 
such functions as the one at Jasper Townsend’s last night, 
for I know that in any case you are not inclined to pat- 
ronize that kind of entertainment; but I refer to the little 
gatherings of the young folks here in the village, which are 
of themselves perfectly innocent.” 

“And harmless even for you, Brother Philip, now and 
then,” interpolated Milton Bright ; “only your doing so too 
frequently is liable to be misunderstood by some of your 
brethren or sisters, who appear to have forgotten that they 
were once young themselves, and who also are liable ta 


FLEETFOOT TO THE RESCUE 


161 


overlook the fact that you are young, and for that reason 
enjoy the innocent recreations of other young people.” 

“You mean that these little divertisements are to be 
classed among things ‘lawful, but not expedient,’ for me 
to engage in too frequently,” said Philip. 

“Yes, that’s our meaning,” answered Henson ; “and I 
hope you won’t feel hurt by our suggesting this to you.” 

“Indeed,” said Philip, gratefully, “I’m sure that what 
you say is prompted by the kindest motives. Moreover, 
your advice is good, and I shall try to shape my future 
doings in accordance with it.” 

On his way home from the board meeting Robert 
Mason met Samuel Lane and Jim Dick Fowler, and 
stopped to have a talk with them. He soon learned that 
they had heard nothing about Payee’s recent adventure ; 
and, mentally congratulating himself upon his being able 
to give his version of the affair before their judgment had 
been biased by any unfavorable comments from others, he 
related the whole circumstance. Knowing there was no 
surer way to enlist the co-operation of his two listeners 
than to tell them that Jacob Foster had not been altogether 
favorable in his judgment, he added at the conclusion of 
his account, and before either of the other men had had 
time to express an opinion, that Foster had not at first been 
disposed to deal leniently with Bryce. His words had the 
desired effect. That Jacob Foster should object to or 
oppose any proceeding was usually sufficient reason why 
Samuel Lane should favor it. Hence, he now at once 
declared that Bryce was, in his opinion, entirely without 
blame in the matter. Jim Dick Fowler, who was Sam 
Lane’s cousin, and who generally had his mind on any and 
every subject made up for him either by his wife or by this 
favorite kinsman, acquiesced heartily in Lane’s opinion. 

“Well,” said Mason, as he was preparing to drive on, 


162 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


“I’m glad you two see this matter in the same light as 
Henson, Bright, Clark and myself do — and, in fact, as Fos- 
ter himself is now disposed to do since Henson reasoned 
with him in regard to it.” 


The next week was an exceedingly uncomfortable one 
for Katharine Marshall. Milton and Nancy Bright, it is 
true, said little to her about the Townsend affair, and that 
little was very kindly spoken; but their children, who, of 
course, knew all about Katharine’s escapade (since nothing 
she ever said or did seemed to escape them), were not so 
reticent as their parents. 

“Uncle Chawley says you’s been awful wicked. Miss 
Tate, an’ if you don’t look out the Ole Bad Man’ll det you. 
Will he?” asked little Buddy with keen interest in the doom 
threatening the young lady before whom he stood with his 
sturdy young legs planted wide apart, and his hands thrust 
into the newly acquired pockets of his trousers. 

“Ole Bad Man will det you, Buddy, if you don’t shut 
up. My Miss Kitty girl ain’t nevah wicked,” said dear 
little Margaret, climbing into Miss Marshall’s lap and 
snuggling her curly head against the young lady’s arm. 

Cissy and Polly were not so much concerned about the 
sinfulness of dancing as their youngest brother was, but 
they displayed an active and annoying curiosity as to what 
had transpired at the ball. “Did you have a good time?” 
“Did you waltz much?” “Who were your partners?” were 
some of their many queries to their teacher. 

Alec, like Puggie, was at all times and under all circum- 
stances a stanch partisan of Miss Marshall. He strove with 
Susan in wordy warfare on the subject of Katharine’s sup- 
posed transgression, declaring, with the accumulated wis- 
dom of his twelve years, “There ain’t a speck of harm in 
dancin’ — no more’n there is in runnin’ or jumpin’;” Susan 


FLEET FOOT TO THE RESCUE 163 

maintaining stoutly that Miss Marshall had committed a 
grave offense, and that the church ought either to turn her 
out or baptize her over again like the colored Baptists did 
their backsliders. This last fancy so tickled the children 
that they proceeded forthwith to act out the ceremony ; 
Puggie taking the role of the penitent Sister Katharine 
Marshall, candidate for rebaptism; Alexander enacting the 
preacher and administering the rite in the baptismal pool, 
which in this instance was the dry bed of the ravine in the 
back yard; while the congregation, consisting of Polly, 
Susan and Bobby Bright, and the little negro girl, Ivory, 
stood on the bank, singing as a baptismal chant, “When 
He cometh, when He cometh, to make up His jewels,” that 
being the only hymn with which little Robert was familiar. 

Uncle Charley, who had adopted Miss Marshall as a 
member of the family, and who consequently felt a weight 
of responsibility respecting her conduct, for several days 
never met her anywhere about the place without shaking 
his nappy head, drawing down the corners of his mouth, 
and groaning over the young lady’s shortcomings. One 
afternoon he met her at the gate, on her return from 
school. He doffed his old straw hat, laid a detaining hand 
on the gate, and thus spoke his mind : “Miss Kate, you’s a 
well-favohed young damson, but de Lawd nevah give you 
dem ah bright eyes an’ purty cheeks fuh to be a snare an’ 
a delushin. Yo’ little foots warn’t meant to prance ’roun’ 
in de gitty dance, an’ to lead young men frum de straight 
an’ norro way, as I heahs you has been a-doin’ of.” 

“Why, Uncle Charles, there’s no very great harm in 
dancing, is there?” 

He shook his head more in sorrow than in anger over 
what the misguided young lady had just said, and ex- 
claimed : “I didn’t nevah ’spect to heah you ’spress yo’se’f 
lak dat. Miss Kate — an’ you begaged to a preachah, too — 


164 THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 

leastways, ef you hain’t zactly begaged, things seems lak 
they’s movin’ long datah way. Whut will Brothah Bryce 
say when he heahs uv you dancin’ ?” It was fortunate that 
no word of “Brothah Bryce’s” participation in the worldly 
function of that Friday night had penetrated to the chil- 
dren or to the colored members of the household at Willow 
Brook. 

Katharine was silenced by the old fellow’s last question ; 
he, therefore, thinking further to impress her by the force 
of his reasoning, continued: “Miss Kate, chile, dem whut 
has de spiritual rule ovah you says chu’ch-membahs shan’t 
dance; an’ ’tain’t becomin’ fuh you to be buckin’ ag’in the 
regular’ties in disah way. You oughtah obey lak a good 
lamb uv de foie. ’Sides dat, hain’t we speshly warned ag’in 
walkin’ wid de world? An’ heah you’s been not jes’ 
a-walkiri, but a-danciri wid de world. But, honey, I hopes 
you’ll see de arrows uv yo’ way, an’ reform." With that, 
the old fellow opened the gate and allowed the girl to 
pass through, while he went on down the pike, singing in 
his cracked, quavering old voice, “In de great gittin’-up 
mawnin’.” 

Not being an accomplished horsewoman, Miss Marshall 
seldom ventured to take a horseback ride, but Saturday 
afternoon, longing to be alone, yet oppressed by the close 
atmosphere of her room, she determined to ride to Ginseng 
for the mail. She declined the proffered companionship of 
Susan and Puggie, each of whom wanted to ride behind 
her. She wanted to be alone to commune with nature ; but 
she soon found that communing with nature and trying at 
the same time to ride Fleet foot was by no means an easy 
task. The horse appeared to be aware of her lack of 
equestrian skill and to resent it ; and no matter how docile 
he was with more capable riders, with her on his back he 
was ready to play all sorts of antics. But this particular 


FLEETFOOT TO THE RESCUE 


165 


afternoon he seemed unusually sedate, and the girl antici- 
pated a pleasant ride. Alec helped her to mount. Before 
handing her the denim sack that served as a mail-bag, he 
shook it before Fleetfoot’s nose, and said, “Come, sir, don’t 
you cut any of your didoes with Miss Kate; but behave 
yourself like a gentleman, and bring back the mail.” 

For the first half of the ride Fleetfoot did behave like 
a gentleman, and Kate felt greatly cheered by the exercise 
and the sweet sounds and scents of early springtime. All 
went well until on the homeward way they reached the 
bridge. Kate wanted to cross the bridge, but Fleetfoot 
insisted upon a different course. He wanted to follow a 
steep bridle-path at the left of the bridge, which, wind- 
ing in and out among the rocks and bushes on the edge of 
the creek, finally terminated under the bridge in a pool 
which in dry weather was much used as a watering-place 
for stock. But at this time the creek was swollen by recent 
rains, and the pool was at least seven feet deep. Katharine 
reasoned with, coaxed, threatened her steed, and tugged at 
the bridle, fearing the while that the saddle would turn. 
But Fleetfoot showed his teeth, shook his mane, twisted 
and plunged about, and finally started in a lope down the 
steep bank. The bridle was short; Fleetfoot, headstrong, 
fat and clumsy, and the girl was at her wits’ end. What 
did he want? she anxiously thought. He did not want a 
drink, but, even if he did, she feared she could not hold on 
to the short bridle while his head was bent, without being 
in danger of tumbling over his head. Moreover, the creek 
at this point was too deep for them to cross in safety. 

“Whoa, there ! Hold on ! Hold on !” a voice hallooed. 

If the injunction “Hold on!” was meant for her, Kate 
was obeying it to the best of her ability. Fleetfoot, as soon 
as he heard the voice, stopped and stood as demurely as if 
he were the best intentioned creature in the world ; and 


166 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


Philip Bryce rode rapidly down to where the girl sat trem- 
bling and unnerved, with one hand clutching the pommel 
of her saddle, the other buried in Fleetfoot’s mane. The 
man seized the bridle, and, thinking that the horse wanted 
a drink, he led him down to the water’s edge. 

“You and your steed seem to be having a difference of 
opinion,” remarked Philip. “What caprice induced him to 
come down here ? He isn’t thirsty ; he won’t drink a drop. 
Perhaps he desired a full-length view of himself,” the man 
said, as the horse stood with head bent, his gaze fixed on 
the stream. 

“Probably he merely wanted a little fun at my expense. 
He seems to have a grotesque sense of humor,” said the 
girl, blithely. 

“Fleetfoot’s position in horseland is doubtless that of 
clown or joker,” Philip laughingly said ; “but he deserves 
hanging for frightening you,” he added solicitously, with 
an admiring glance at her blushing face. 

Still holding the girl’s bridle, Mr. Bryce led the way up 
the bank, on to the bridge; and side by side they rode 
toward Willow Brook. When they reached the stile he 
asked that they might prolong their ride, if she were not 
too tired. She said she was not at all tired; so he hung 
the mail-bag on the hitching-post, and they went on up 
the pike. 

After a short silence he said: “Miss Katharine, I want 
to apologize for the brusque, unwarrantable way in which 
I spoke to you that night at Townsends’. My request about 
your not waltzing was most ungraciously worded. Will 
you forgive me?” He was riding close to her, and as he 
spoke he bent his head and tried to look into her averted 
face. 

“I behaved badly myself,” she said in a low tone. “Your 
words were well meant, and my impatient, haughty way of 


FLEETFOOT TO THE RESCUE 167 

answering was very rude. Perhaps it is I, not you, who 
should ask forgiveness.” 

“I have nothing to forgive. My queen can do no 
wrong,” rejoined the infatuated young man, bending still 
nearer and speaking in a tone of deep tenderness. “You 
have — ” he began ; but his speech was never finished ; for 
at that moment Susan and Margaret, with loud cackles of 
laughter, jumped out from the bushes on the roadside. 
They, having seen Philip and Kate ride slowly by the house, 
had taken a short-cut across the cornfield and woodland 
pasture to intercept them. 

“Those two children are omnipresent,” the young man 
muttered impatiently. “They are forever making their 
appearance just when I most wish to have a word alone 
with you. My dear little girls,” he added suavely, address- 
ing the children, “Pm giving Miss Marshall a lesson in 
horseback riding, and we really haven’t time just now to 
stop to talk with you. Perhaps it would be better if you 
were to run on to the house now. IT1 bring Miss Kate 
back before long.” 

“But it’s supper-time, and ma told us to call you,” said 
Susie. 

“Let me wide, too,” pleaded Puggie ; “my feet is muddy 
an’ cold, an’ Pm all out uv breaf, runnin’ so hard — an’ I 
tored my apown, climbin’ frough the gap,” and her lip 
began to quiver. 

“It would be a great pity to have the little darlings over- 
tire themselves or to catch cold, I suppose,” Mr. Bryce said 
grudgingly, in a tone so low as to be heard only by Katha- 
rine. Stooping down, he lifted Puggie to a seat in front 
of him, while Kate rode over to the fence, and allowed 
Susan to clamber up behind her. 


lt>8 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


CHAPTER XX. 

love’s young dream. 

When springtime loveliness and light 
Fall round me dark and cold, 

I’ll bear indeed life’s heaviest curse, 

A heart that has grown old. 

— Arthur Hugh Clough. 

Even to those in whom the pulse of young desire is 
stilled, and for whom the rosy light of first love has for- 
ever waned, May time beauty has power to thrill the heart 
with recollections of a bygone ecstasy. It is no wonder, 
then, that Philip Bryce, aged twenty-six, warm-blooded, 
hopeful, and dominated by the restless fervor of a first 
deep love, found it impossible upon a certain Monday after- 
noon to fix his thoughts upon the prosaic task of sermon- 
writing, while the birds in treetop and hedgerow were sing- 
ing a wedding chorus, the fruit trees were carrying great 
bridal bouquets of white blossoms, and Spring, clad in her 
flower-embroidered nuptial gown, was hastening to meet 
approaching Summer. 

As the tall grandfather’s clock out in the hall clanged 
out three ponderous strokes, the young man’s wandering 
glance fell upon a book lying upon his study-table. It was 
one he had borrowed several weeks before of Miss Mar- 
shall. The book furnished an excuse for quitting work. 
He had, he reflected, a whole week before him in which to 
prepare that sermon. It could, therefore, wait, but his 
desire to see the girl he loved could not. 

Thrusting aside writing materials, concordance, refer- 
ence-books, and unfinished sermon ; exchanging slippers 
and study jacket for outdoor apparel, and putting the bor- 
rowed volume in his pocket, he was soon in his buggy, 


LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM 


169 


driving swiftly toward the schoolhouse. On the way he 
met groups of sportive children homeward bound — laden 
with satchels and lunch-baskets, and as joyous as birds set 
free. 

When he reached the schoolhouse, Katharine stood 
under the locust-trees at the little schoolyard gate, resting 
from her day’s work, and drinking in the refreshing beauty 
of the afternoon. Her white sunbonnet was swung from 
her arm. The light of dreams was in her blue eyes ; the 
smile of youth and happiness hovered about her lips. The 
fresh green and white of her cambric dress, the delicate 
pink of her rounded cheek and the shine and sheen of her 
golden brown hair carried out the symphony of color in 
which the whole earth was clothed. 

Her face lit up with a smile of welcome as Philip 
sprang from the buggy, and, grasping her hand, asked her 
to drive with him ; but a strange, unreasoning fit of shyness 
made her hesitate and murmur some halting excuse about 
having work to do at home. 

“Work, indeed,” he scornfully ejaculated, “after having 
been mewed up for eight long hours in the schoolroom — on 
such a day as this, too ! Come, this is no time for work, 
but for play and spring freedom and pleasure. Let this 
sunshine, this tender bloom of field and woods, plead for 
me. 

In truth she needed little urging, and they were soon 
driving far out into the country — their hearts in unison 
with the gladness of the May time. They did not talk much 
at first, but theirs was the silence of perfect sympathy and 
abounding content; nor were words needed to interpret 
nature’s sweet message ; for the birds sang a love song, the 
soft wind whispered it, and the tender light in the young 
man’s eyes was eloquent of the same theme. 

When they reached the crossroads, she suggested a 


170 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


return, as the sun was getting low. They faced about, 
and, with lines drooping loosely over the dashboard, they 
drove slowly homeward. His eyes, glowing with “tender 
fire,” were fastened upon her averted face. Words of love 
trembled upon his lips, and in another moment they would 
have found utterance; but she, glancing at him from un- 
der her drooping eyelids, was seized at once by perverse, 
maiden shyness, and spoke quickly in order to avert the 
avowal which she longed, yet dreaded, to hear. Availing 
herself of the first topic that occurred to her, she began 
speaking of some Australian photographic views he had 
sent her a few weeks before. She praised the photographs, 
hoping thus to lead him to talk of his native land, which 
had ever in times past proved a fruitful topic of conver- 
sation with him. 

“Ah! I knew you would like the views,” he answered. 
“They are, as you say, beautiful, and they do not in the 
least overrate the picturesque charm and the scenic gran- 
deur of what they portray. It is a glorious country, that 
magical Australian land,” he continued. “I love every foot 
of it, and for many reasons I feel it best for my future that 
I have, in a measure, pledged myself to return, to make 
that country the field of my life-work. But” — and he 
turned towards her and his face was eloquent and impas- 
sioned — “much as the work there appeals to me, and 
intense as is my longing to see once more my loved ones 
in the dear old home, yet, when I return there, I shall leave 
my heart behind me in Kentucky, unless you, my — ” 

“Hello!” shouted a voice behind them. Looking back, 
they saw John Henson galloping toward them. Mr. Bryce, 
aroused abruptly by the disturbing influence, hastily with- 
drew the hand he had extended to grasp Katharine’s, and 
straightened up, looking the while extremely disconcerted. 

“The top of the afternoon to you!” John exclaimed as 


LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM 


171 


he came alongside the couple. “I thought I recognized that 
horse and buggy when you turned at the crossroads. I’ve 
been over to the station, looking up some delinquent flour 
barrels. So glad I overtook you; it’s lonesome riding by 
myself. But say, Bryce, I thought Carbine was named 
after the fastest race-horse in Australia. I must say, 
though, that his speed this afternoon belies the promise 
of his high-sounding name; unless,” he added guilefully, 
“some accident has happened the harness or Carbine has 
lost a shoe.” 

Mr. Bryce ungraciously murmured something to the 
effect that no accident had befallen vehicle, harness or 
horse. He then gave Carbine a tap of the whip, that 
started him forward in a rapid trot. The outrider put 
spurs to his own steed, and for the rest of the way stuck 
to the couple in the buggy in spite of Mr. Bryce’s efforts 
to shake him off. When it suited his purpose John could 
be as impervious to hints as even the younger Bright chil- 
dren, and he minded poor Mr. Bryce’s vexed looks and 
short replies and Miss Katharine’s blushing embarrassment 
no more than did the birds twittering in the trees along the 
roadside. In fact, the more disconcerted Philip seemed, the 
more did the frolicsome John appear to enjoy himself. 

Miss Marshall, recovering from her momentary con- 
fusion, smiled to herself with humorous appreciation at the 
thought of how circumstances, as embodied a few after- 
noons before in Susan and Puggie Bright, and this after- 
noon in John Henson, had twice cut off her lover’s approach 
to the all-important question he desired to ask her. Pres- 
ently she was laughing and chatting gayly with young 
Henson, as though, so thought Philip, gloomily, she felt 
greatly relieved and pleased that he had joined them when 
he did. 

If this effort on her part was intended to put Philip at 


172 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


his ease, it failed of its object. Her self-possession and her 
seemingly sincere enjoyment of Mr. Henson’s society only 
made Mr. Bryce the more silent and preoccupied during 
the remainder of the drive. 

When they drew up at the stile at Willow Brook, and 
Kate had been assisted from the buggy, she, after thanking 
Mr. Bryce for her pleasant drive, bade him and John adieu, 
and then turned toward the house. She had crossed the 
porch, and was entering the open door, when, looking back, 
she saw Philip running up the walk. She waited in the 
doorway until he came to her. 

“I forgot to return your ‘Ben Hur’,” he said. Taking 
the book from his pocket as he spoke, he laid it on a small 
table just within the parlor. Then, flushing warmly, and 
examining critically the toe of his shoe the while, he said 
hurriedly, “If agreeable to you, I should like to call to-mor- 
row evening; for — for I have something important to say 
to you, and,” he went on defiantly, now lifting his eyes and 
looking her squarely in the face, “if you will permit me, I 
mean to say it, too, if the whole Bright family and John 
Henson as well are assembled to hear it.” 

Blushing and smiling confusedly, she gave the desired 
permission, and he then returned to the stile-block, where 
awaiting him were his patient Carbine and his solicitous 
friend who evidently did not mean to forsake his minister 
until well out of harm’s way. 

The clatter of dishes and the odor of coffee issuing 
from the dining-room indicated to Miss Marshall that the ^ 
family were at supper, but she lingered in the parlor, 
indulging in happy fancies. At length she picked up the 
book Philip had left. She intended taking it to her room 
before joining the rest of the family in the dining-room; 
but as she stood abstractedly turning the leaves of the 
book, a piece of paper fluttered to the floor. She picked it 


LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM 


173 


up. The writing on it was Philip’s. It showed the begin- 
ning of a poem entitled “Lines to Katharine.” Mr. Bryce 
must have been culling sweets from the Elmarch flower- 
beds, for “Bonny Katharine” was likened to a rich, red 
rose, a graceful harebell, a tall, pale lily. The poetical 
effusion ended abruptly with the first line of a third stanza 
in which the beloved one was compared to the fragrant 
heliotrope. 

Poor lover! He had gone no further in his poetic 
attempt, because he could find no suitable rhyme for the 
word “heliotrope,” although he had toiled faithfully down 
the alphabet, as was attested by the words antelope, horo- 
scope, hope, ’ope, scope, trope, written in a straggling col- 
umn in one corner of the page. The erasures and changes 
throughout the poem showed great disquietude of soul. 

This, then, she thought, was the “sonnet” to which John 
had referred that afternoon, a month ago, at Rose Lawn. 
This explained his occult mutterings about a rhyme for 
heliotrope, and this also now made clear to the girl’s under- 
standing why Mr. Bryce had been so disturbed at John’s 
mysterious references to some recent scene at Elmarch. 

Besides the unfinished poem, the sheet of paper con- 
tained other interesting items. The word “heliotrope” hav- 
ing proved too much for his poetic muse, the usually 
dignified young preacher had next had recourse to the 
soothsayer’s art ; for under the floral tribute was this : 

“ J^ogan Marshall — Indifference 

P/ffip j&dyi/y l^yce — Love” 

This oracle had likewise proved unkind, since, although, 
without doubt, it gave a correct diagnosis of the young 
man’s symptoms, it was not so obliging in its revelation 
concerning the condition of the young lady’s heart — unless,. 


174 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


indeed, “Indifference” was but a euphemism for a far 
warmer feeling. 

Kate was very young, and this sheet of paper was her 
first love letter — if letter it could be called. Perhaps that 
was why its perusal brought a happy, brooding smile to 
her lips and a tender mist of tears to her eyes. Or was it 
that she now viewed this foolish little scrap of paper with 
such tender lenience because it reminded her of a like piece 
of folly on her part? Had not she, too, more than once 
“tried fortunes” under cover of her desk at school during 
the noontide recess, while the children thought her busy 
over the correcting of exercises or the unraveling of some 
mathematical tangle? Like “Emma Peecher’s” pupils, were 
not her writing-class pupils half a year ahead in the skill 
with which they made P’s and B’s, because so many of 
their copies began with one or the other of these capitals? 
Did not her hymnal even bear upon its fly-leaf a scroll-like 
device with the magical initials, P. S. B., wrought in for- 
get-me-nots — the work of her pencil only last Sunday, while 
she sat in the church choir, the picture of decorous devo- 
tion ? 

Her first impulse was to hide the paper among her 
treasures. But no, was her afterthought, Philip was com- 
ing next evening, and in the meanwhile he might remember 
leaving the paper in the book. He had, of course, scribbled 
off that nonsense in an idle moment, intending to destroy 
it. Not for worlds would he have had her see it — especially 
now that he had learned that John Henson had been a 
witness to his folly in writing it. So she replaced the 
paper, and returned the “Ben Hur” to the table, so that 
Mr. Bryce when he called the next evening, seeing the book 
still lying where he had placed it, might think the paper 
enclosed in it had not been discovered. Having returned 
the paper to its hiding-place, she resolved that when next 


LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM 


175 


in her lover’s presence no tone, glance or quiver of an eye- 
lash should betray her knowledge of what she had found. 

That night passed for the young girl in a waking dream 
of happiness. The rays of the moon filled her room with 
soft light. The scented breath of dewy night came in 
through the open window. The occasional twitter of a 
sleepless bird, and even the continuous, discordant croaking 
of the frogs in the frog-haunted ravine, and the weird 
scream of the peafowls roosting in the orchard, seemed an 
integrant part of a larger harmony that filled her being, 
enraptured her spirit, and intoxicated her senses as she lay 
with bared arms flung over her head, indulging in blissful 
visions. 

Philip, too, as he in his big, airy room at Elmarch lay 
happily awake, saw visions and dreamed dreams of future 
bliss, when he and his fair young wife should have returned 
to his native land. He pictured her in his own beautiful 
old home at Undulata — welcomed, made much of, and ten- 
derly loved as she would be by his fond father and mother 
and sister. He planned, too, of the grand work he would 
accomplish with her inspiring presence and her sweet and 
gentle influence ever about him. 

To both girl and lover, on that happy night, life seemed 
to stretch out in a long vista of happiness; and both felt 
sure, in spite of all they had heard and read to the con- 
trary, that in their case the course of true love would run 
smoothly along between banks of roses and honeysuckle. 


176 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


CHAPTER XXL 

THE AWAKENING. 

To be wise, and love, exceeds men’s might. — Shakespeare. 

Well it was for Katharine’s reputation as an educator 
that none of her patrons chose that particular Tuesday in 
May for visiting the school. Miss Marshall, ordinarily so 
alert and capable an instructress, that day went mechanic- 
ally through her schoolroom routine, seeing all things 
through a haze of dreamy happiness. Chalk rags were 
pinned to coat-tails, apron-strings tied to backs of benches, 
telltale apple cores and caramel papers were scattered upon 
the floor, and surprising samples of artistic talent appeared 
upon the blackboard. But, though vaguely conscious of 
growing disorder, unstrung discipline, and a general entan- 
glement of scholastic matters, the young preceptress was 
dominated so completely by her own happy fancies that no 
misdemeanor or badly prepared recitation had power to 
ruffle her serenity or to awaken her to a sense of respon- 
sibility. 

Promptly at seven o’clock that evening Mr. Bryce made 
his appearance at Willow Brook Farm. As he entered the 
parlor, his first glance was at the table near the door, and 
by the look of relief that came to his face when he saw the 
"‘Ben Hur” lying just where he had placed it the previous 
afternoon, Kate knew that he remembered leaving that slip 
of paper in the book. 

At first she tried to put him at ease by talking upon 
general topics. After awhile, with a fine air of innocence, 
she picked up the book and began to speak of it. She 
mentioned what she considered one of its most interesting 
passages, the “Chariot Race,” and asked him to read it to 


THE AWAKENING 


177 


her. He assented, and she handed him the book; but as 
he took it the slip of paper fluttered to the floor. He 
instantly stooped to recover it, and as he arose with the 
paper in his hand, their eyes met. For the life of her, the 
girl could not restrain a smile. That smile betrayed her. 
He colored, and looked as guilty and uncomfortable as a 
schoolboy detected in some wrong-doing. This was more 
than she could stand. She giggled impolitely and openly. 
Then the absurdity of the situation rushed upon her with 
overwhelming force, and she gave way to untimely, irre- 
sistible laughter. His expression of mortification and 
wounded sensitiveness warned her, but, the more uneasy 
and embarrassed he grew, the less able she became to stifle 
her mirth, of which even at the time she was thoroughly 
ashamed. After a few seconds, however, her laughter 
ceased, but still she could think of no remark to tide over 
the awkward pause that followed. 

After an embarrassing moment, which seemed of much 
longer duration, he took up the book again, turned to the 
“Chariot Race,” and began reading aloud. Mr. Bryce’s 
elocutionary powers were above the average, but Lew Wal- 
lace would have felt greatly pained could he have heard 
the young preacher’s rendition of the famous “Chariot 
Race.” However, the sole auditor that night was herself 
in no frame of mind to criticize poor elocution. 

Finishing the “Chariot Race,” and the young lady still 
being unable to find a topic of conversation, Philip read on. 
There is no saying how much of the book he might have 
read, had not Mr. Bright entered the room. He said that 
he merely wanted a word or two with “Brother Bryce” 
concerning some little clerical matter. His profuse apol- 
ogies anent his interrupting the reading only served to 
make the situation of the two young people the more 
awkward. 


178 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


As though unconscious of what he was doing, Mr. 
Bryce, as he talked with Mr. Bright, tore that unlucky 
sheet of paper into tiny bits, which he, after glancing 
toward the grate, which was closed for the season, thrust 
into his coat pocket. 

Katharine, sitting quietly across the room, taking no 
part in the business discussion between the two men, hid 
a smile when presently, as Mr. Bryce abstractedly drew 
forth his handkerchief, the torn bits of paper which he 
had a few seconds before so carefully stowed in his pocket 
again fluttered to the floor, unperceived by him, and lay 
scattered about the carpet under the large center-table at 
his right. 

When Milton Bright quitted the room the reading was 
not resumed, but the two young people were ill at ease 
and little inclined to prolong the unsatisfactory interview. 
After some desultory talk, he rose to go. She murmured 
some halting, incoherent words about its not being late. In 
reality, she was so perturbed over the result of her ill-timed 
laughter that it was impossible for her to recover self- 
possession. To her lover, who totally misunderstood her 
manner, it seemed forced and ungracious to the verge of 
impoliteness. His leave-taking was coldly formal, and there 
was no hint of his coming again. 

When he had gone, Kate laboriously gathered up those 
precious pieces of paper scattered underneath the center- 
table; and, taking them to her room, she placed them in a 
little lacquered box which she hid in the depths of her 
trunk. 

The night before she had gathered flowers upon the 
Delectable Mountains. To-night she groped through the 
Valley of Humiliation. The moonlight seemed cold and 
mocking; the scent of the honeysuckle beneath her win- 
dow, oppressive; the chorus of frogs and the scream of the 


THE AWAKENING 


m 

peafowls, which last night seemed actually musical, now 
seemed like the cry of evil spirits in Pandemonium. 

At last she fell into a troubled sleep from which she 
was awakened some hours later by Puggie’s soft kisses on 
her face, and the morning salutation : ‘‘Wake up, wake up. 
Miss Kate! Breakfus is weady. You’s lazy this mawnin’, 
ain’t you? I’ll he’p you dwess. Lemme button your shoes 
fur you.” 

Banished, to a degree, by the child’s loving chatter and 
the morning’s freshness and fragrance were the dismal 
forebodings of the night; and as Kate walked to school, 
hope breathed a flattering tale — Philip would soon get over 
his unhappy mood of the night before, and return to his 
allegiance. But when the week had passed without a word 
or sign from her lover, resentment at his conduct took the 
place of hope with the girl. During the remaining weeks 
of her school term she saw him at church only. He looked 
thin and pale, and she heard from the Brights that he was 
soon to go West for a six weeks’ vacation. 

If possible, Philip that night, after that unsatisfactory 
call at Willow Brook, was more miserable than Kate ; and 
the thoughts that tormented his wakeful hours were in 
sharp contrast to his rose-tinted visions of the previous 
night. Had he not been so much in love, he would have 
been able to laugh with Kate over that foolish scrap of 
paper ; but his great love for her not only made him unduly 
sensitive regarding anything she did or said, but also 
deprived him, for the time being, of his sense of humor. 
He was enraged with himself for having written that 
idiotic scribbling, and for his carelessness in leaving it in 
the book he returned to her. He was, if possible, still more 
exasperated with John Henson for having referred to it in 
Kate’s presence several weeks ago in the library at Rose 
Lawn. Moreover, as he now reviewed the incidents of the 


180 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


last few months, he was sure that Kate Marshall had been 
only trifling with him, and making sport of his love. 

By the next morning the young man was, of course, 
thoroughly ashamed of his childish petulance, unworthy 
suspicions and unjust thoughts of the girl he loved. He 
determined to see her again as soon as possible, to learn his 
fate at her hands. Accordingly, on Thursday morning he 
wrote her asking if he might call again on Saturday even- 
ing. As he was sealing this note Robert Mason came by, 
as previously agreed upon between them, to take him to 
see a certain sick member of the church. Mr. Mason was 
in a hurry, for the sick man lived several miles from the 
^village, and he wanted to get the visit over in time to return 
home by noon. Philip, therefore, left the letter directed to 
Katharine, and several other letters he had written that 
morning, on his desk and hastily caught up his hat, and 
hurried out to the gate where Mason waited in the buggy. 
On his way through the hall, Philip saw Sam, the negro 
who served at Elmarch in the capacity of mail-carrier and 
errand-boy. The young man told Sam of the letters on the 
desk, requested him to mail them at once, and then started 
off with Robert Mason. 

Thursday, Friday and Saturday passed without bring- 
ing any reply from Kate. He was bitterly chagrined, but 
after a few hours love conquered chagrin, and on the next 
Tuesday morning, knowing that her summer vacation was 
drawing near, and feeling that he could not let her leave 
Ginseng without his first speaking with her, he rode over 
to Willow Brook, hoping to see her before she started for 
school. When he reached Willow Brook, Uncle Charley 
was coming through the gate leading to the pike. From 
him Philip learned that Miss Marshall had gone to ‘the 
schoolhouse sometime since. He tore a leaf from a little 
note-book, and, seated on his horse and using the pommel 


THE AWAKENING 


181 


of the saddle as a desk, he wrote a line to Kate, asking that 
he might see her that evening. This note he entrusted to 
Uncle Charles to deliver as soon as she returned from 
school. He gave the negro a dime, and promised him fifty 
cents more, if he would bring him Miss Marshall’s reply 
that afternoon. 

That same morning Diana Henson walked over from 
Rose Lawn to spend the day with her Aunt Goodloe. 
Instead of walking home that afternoon, she accepted Mr. 
Bryce’s offer to take her home in his buggy. Just before 
they started on their drive to Ginseng, and while they still 
lingered with Mrs. Goodloe on the front portico, Uncle 
Charley rode up, and stopped at the front gate. Bryce 
hurried down the walk to meet the old fellow, who handed 
him a package, and then hitched his horse and hobbled off 
through the side yard toward the negro cabin in the rear. 

Philip, forgetful of the two pairs of eyes watching him 
from the portico, and thinking only of finding a note from 
Kate, hastily tore off the wrappings of the package. It 
contained some photographic views of Australian scenes 
and two books he had loaned Miss Marshall several weeks 
previously. He searched carefully through books and 
photographs, and, finding no note, he called out to the 
darkey, who by this time was half way across the yard : 
“Hold on a moment, Uncle Charley. Haven’t you a note 
or a letter for me?” 

“No* suh, Brothah Bryce, she nevah sent no writin’s ; 
she jes’ tole me to fotch you dat air posset,” was the reply. 

Leaving the books and photographs lying on the grass 
near the gate, Philip, so vexed and troubled as to be entirely 
unmindful of what he was doing, sprang into the buggy 
and drove off in the direction of Durritt. He had not 
driven far before he remembered Diana. With an ejacula- 
tion of dismay, he turned around and drove back to 


182 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


Elmarch. Diana, who had been greatly astounded when 
Mr. Bryce drove off without her, was standing at the gate 
when he returned. He apologized very humbly for his 
absent-minded behavior, and Diana, suspecting that he was 
in grave trouble of some kind, readily accepted his apology, 
and they proceeded to Ginseng. 

‘Tm coming over to-morrow night for a farewell visit,” 
Ruby Stump said one afternoon to Kate, upon meeting her 
as she was coming out of the post-office. “There are sev- 
eral matters I desire to talk over with you, my dear, before 
you leave us for the summer,” she added, tapping Kate’s 
arm affectionately. 

By one subterfuge or another, Kate had hitherto evaded 
Ruby’s attempts to get her to read the manuscript of a 
novel the would-be authoress was writing; but now further 
escape seemed impossible, so the younger woman resigned 
herself to the inevitable. But when Ruby came next even- 
ing she was so full of other topics as to be unmindful of 
her literary aspirations. 

“So the doctor and Diana Henson have quarreled, I 
hear, and their engagement (if one ever existed between 
them) is broken!” Ruby began, as soon as she and Kate 
were in the privacy of the latter’s room. “Diana is an 
amiable girl, and some consider her handsome, though, for 
my part, I can’t say that I admire brunettes of so pro- 
nounced a type ; but she is too superficial to make any last- 
ing impression on so scholarly a man as Ralph Moreland. / 
wasn’t deceived by his attentions to her last winter. I had 
reason to believe that his real inclinations tended quite in 
another direction. And now it appears' that Diana has 
entrapped Shelburn Broadus. Well, she is welcome to him 
or to Dr. Moreland, either, for all of me ; but, if she did 
but know it, she’s only second choice with either of them. 


THE AWAKENING 


183 


'Still waters run deepest,’ and I could tell you something, 
my dear, that would make you open your eyes — only it isn’t 
in me to boast.” 

"What bee has the foolish creature in her bonnet now ?” 
Kate wondered. 

"But before many weeks have passed, my dear,” Ruby 
proceeded, "you will probably hear a piece of news that 
will surprise you. I am — ahem ! — but perhaps the affair is 
hardly ripe enough just yet for me to confide even to you.” 

Katharine was weary and did not urge her companion 
to reveal this mysterious secret. She soon wished she had 
insisted, for Ruby next said in her most insinuating man- 
ner, "I presume you and Brother Bryce intend correspond- 
ing during your vacation.” 

"Oh, no, indeed,” was the hurried rejoinder. 

"Ah!” Ruby playfully replied, "you can’t expect me to 
believe that. Of course you’re bashful about admitting 
anything ; but, my dear girl, considering the interest I take 
in you both, you might confide in me. I never betray con- 
fidence. Brother Bryce is one of the truest gentlemen I 
ever knew, and an especial favorite of mine. Perhaps he 
is a little too youthful in his manner sometimes, for a 
preacher, but of that, of course, time will cure him. And 
as for you, my dear Katharine, I said to myself the very 
first time I ever met you that you were a girl after my 
own heart, and closer acquaintance has but deepened that 
impression. There is a wonderful similarity in our tastes 
and views on most subjects. In fact, I regard you as my 
twin affinity.” 

Ruby’s "twin affinity” still declined to be confidential, 
and still stoutly asserted that Mr. Bryce was nothing more 
to her than a friend. Nevertheless, this did not alter Miss 
Stump’s conviction. "I was greatly surprised,” Ruby 
resumed, "when I heard you had accepted the school for 


184 


THE MAH FROM AUSTRALIA 


next term. I was sure Brother Bryce would be your only 
pupil after this year. Still, perhaps it is adyisable that you 
should not marry for a year or two — although, as a rule, I 
don’t approve of long engagements. But no girl under 
twenty-eight or twenty-nine is fit to enter the estate of 
matrimony. Now, I am not ashamed to acknowledge that 
I was thirty last February.” 

Katharine wondered if February twenty-ninth were not 
Miss Ruby’s natal day — thus allowing her only one- fourth 
as many birthdays as other people had. 

“But my friends,” Ruby continued, “constantly tell me 
I don’t look a day over twenty. And I am thankful now 
that I wasn’t persuaded into accepting any of the numerous 
offers I received during my early girlhood, as I feel that 
only now have I attained to years of discretion, and am 
capable of making a wise choice.” 


SUNDAY AFTERNOON VISITORS 


185 


CHAPTER XXII. 

SUNDAY AFTERNOON VISITORS. 

Willow Brook Farm was favored with quite a number 
of visitors the last Sunday afternoon of Kate Marshall’s 
stay in Ginseng. While Mr. and Mrs. Bright chatted with 
their own callers in the sitting-room, and their children 
played out in the yard with their young visitors, Katharine, 
assisted by little Margaret, who generally preferred Miss 
Marshall’s society to that of other children, entertained 
Tom Slocum, Della Mason, Shelburn Broadus, and John 
and Diana Henson in the parlor. 

“Ginseng will be a howling wilderness this summer, 
with you so far away,’’ gallantly declared John to Miss 
Marshall in a lull of general conversation. 

“It will indeed,” heartily echoed the other callers. 

“You’re very kind to put the matter that way,” rejoined 
Katharine, “but, in reality, it is I, not Ginseng, that shall 
feel desolate. I shall miss my pleasant friends here far 
more than they will miss me.” 

“By the way,” exclaimed Broadus, when all had uttered 
their polite disclaimers to Kate’s assertion, “I hear that Mr. 
Bryce is soon to start on a camping expedition out West.” 

“Yes,” said Della, “that will leave our village doubly 
lonesome ; and Brother Bryce expects to be gone quite 
awhile, too, I’ve heard.” 

“Oh, Bryce’ll be back for roll-call the first of Septem- 
ber, without doubt,” Tom said meaningly. 

“Cissy says,” began Margaret, who sat between Kate 
and John on the sofa, “that Bwovveh Bwyce an’ Miss Kate 
are — ” 

“Why, Puggie,” Della hastily interrupted, “what a 


18G 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


pretty frock you have on ! Isn’t it a new one ? Come 
here, and let me see it closely.” 

“Pa buyed it full m‘e at Durritt,” said the little girl, in 
all sincerity, as she rose and stood before Della that the 
new chambray frock might be duly admired “Miss Kate 
give me this* edgin’ to twim.it. I only wore it once before 
— when Bwovveh Bwyce took me an’ her a wide one even- 
in’; an’ he said my dwess was mighty sweet, an’ jus’ the 
color of Miss Kate’s eyes,” she went on, looking innocently 
at Della. 

“What was it that Cissy said, Puggie?” asked Mr. 
Broadus. 

“Yes, let us hear what Cissy said,” urged Tom. 

“Margaret,” interposed Diana, quickly,, “I’m dreadfully 
thirsty; won’t you please get me a drink of water?” 

“Run on, dear,” advised Kate, much relieved, “and tell 
Alec to draw some fresh water ; and then I think you had 
better stay out in the yard, and help Cissy and Molly and 
Susan entertain their company.” 

After the little girl had withdrawn, Della said : “Brother 
Bryce needs a vacation. He studies too much, father says. 
He’s such an unceasing worker, too, and doesn’t spare him- 
self in any line of duty. No wonder he looks worn and 
jaded.” 

“He certainly has appeared to be off his feed consider- 
ably, this last month or so,” acknowledged Tom. “But,” 
he continued, pointedly, with a sly glance toward Kate, 
“whether this is due to overwork or to heart trouble, I 
can’t say.” 

This remark, to say the least of it, was in exceedingly 
bad taste, and John, in order to cover Katharine’s con- 
fusion, and to turn the tide of conversation into another 
channel, gave utterance to the first thought that occurred 
to him. “Pm inclined to think I was cut out for a preacher 


SUNDAY AFTERNOON VISITORS 


187 


myself. My robust constitution could stand any amount 
of pastoral work, and my oratorical powers would find 
much quicker recognition if turned into the channel of 
pulpit eloquence, than they’re likely to find in the drear and 
musty way of a legal career.” 

“If an utter lack of spiritual experience and Scriptural 
knowledge is any qualification, you’re without doubt well 
fitted for the ministry,” laughingly declared his sister. 

“To be sure I am !” returned young Henson, stoutly. 
“My Sunday-school teacher used to tell me that the less I 
knew on any subject, the more I could find to say about it; 
so, my lack of spiritual perception and Biblical knowledge 
is, as you say, in my favor — as permitting my other talents, 
freer range ; for, after all, it isn’t knowledge or experience, 
but fancy and imagination, that are the chief requisites for 
pulpit oratory.” 

“I may be wrong, of course,” here spake Shelburn 
Broadus, “but, if I remember rightly, the majority of 
text-books on mental philosophy maintain that fancy and 
imagination can work only on a basis of knowledge and 
experience.” 

“That,” airily retorted Mr. Henson, “is doubtless true 
in regard to the workings of ordinary little mentalities such 
as some I could mention, but — ” 

“Thank you!” interpolated Broadus. 

“But,” continued John, “my conceptive faculties are of 
a higher order than that. For instance, my imagination 
can depict a beast with green legs, blue hair, red eyes, three 
tails, five ears, and with seven horns growing in a row 
down the middle of its back; but I never saw or heard tell 
of such an animal.” 

“John, John, how can you be so ridiculous!” merrily 
expostulated Miss Henson. 

“Pshaw, Jack !” scoffingly exclaimed Tom, “that’s not 


188 


THE MAH FROM AUSTRALIA 


imagination, but memory. That self-same beast, or one 
very like it, is described in Revelation." 

“But I never read the Book of Revelation, that I know 
of,” John retorted. 

“At any rate,” said Broadus, “you have seen legs, horns, 
eyes, blueness, greenness, and all that, and your imagina- 
tion, instead of working upon llew material, has merely 
combined these things into a monstrosity which would do 
credit to the visions of a morphine fiend or the ravings of 
a ‘d. t.’ victim.” 

John’s ability to answer this argument was not put to 
the test, for at that moment Della, who was seated beside 
young Slocum on a divan near one of the front windows, 
cried out, “Here comes Mr. Bryce! He’s stopping at the 
stile-block.” 

The exultant joy that rushed into Katharine’s heart at 
this announcement was speedily destroyed by Tom, who, 
after a hasty look from the window, said: “No, it isn’t 
Bryce, at all. It’s our revered P. M., the Honorable Elihu 
Clay.” 

“So it is,” said Della. “At first glance that horse he’s 
driving looked so much like Carbine that I thought Mr. 
Bryce was coming.” 

Mr. Clay held a short colloquy with Mr. Bright at the 
stile-block, and then drove on. 

Before poor Kate, who wished with all her soul that the 
conversational boat could be steered clear of all mention of 
Philip Bryce’s name, could start another topic, Mr. Broadus 
put in his oar. “Bryce in future will have to cut out Sun- 
day visiting and all such frivolities, I fear. Sisters Miranda 
and Jane still refuse to hear reason or to accept any expla- 
nation about his going to the Townsends’ party. More than 
that, Miss Hogg hasn’t let up on him yet about that call he 
made here last September, the first Sunday of your stay in 


SUNDAY AFTERNOON VISITORS 189 

Ginseng, Miss Marshall. You remember the occasion, do 
you not?” 

“Oh, yes, quite well,” she replied with admirable sang 
fro id. 

“Of course she does,” ejaculated John. “Miss Kath- 
arine has that date marked with a white stone, because it 
was then that she was first honored by a call from ‘Yours 
Truly/ ” 

“It was likewise the occasion upon which she had the 
inestimable happiness of a first call from me — to say 
nothing of your call, Mr. Broadus, and that of Ginseng’s 
brightest ornament, the glorious Miss Stump,” chimed in 
Diana, quickly, seconding her brother’s efforts toward 
relieving the much-tried Katharine. “By the way,” Miss 
Henson went on, “what has become of Miss Ruby? I 
haven’t seen her for nearly a month. Can it be that she 
is wrestling with another poem or writing another novel, 
that she keeps herself thus aloof from society?” 

“She spent the night with me not long ago,” Kate 
answered, “but although her conversational powers upon 
other topics appeared to be as brilliant as ever, she made 
no reference to her poems or novel. Indeed, it struck me 
that for some occult reason her literary aspirations were 
on the wane.” 

“Ah, now’s my opportunity!” ejaculated Mr. Henson. 
“The only rivals I have ever really feared in the dear lady’s 
affections have been her literary aspirations, and if these 
have been laid low, the way is cleared for me to go in 
and win.” 

After the general laugh which this called forth had sub- 
sided, Della, apropos of Mr. Broadus’ last speech, said, “If 
Mr. Bryce heeds all the silly notions of some of his parish- 
ioners, he’ll have to eschew all social relaxations whatso- 
ever.” 


190 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


“Bryce ain’t built that way/’ asserted young Slocum. 
“He’ll go his own gait regardless of the unreasonable 
whims of the few old women of both sexes who would 
like to have him wear a long face, a hair shirt, and pebbles 
in his shoes. But I suspect that the parson’s failure to 
show up here this afternoon is due to his mental and phy- 
sical exhaustion after that high-flown discourse he gave us 
this morning.” 

“He assuredly was in his happiest vein this forenoon,” 
acquiesced the editor. “It was fortunate that Dr. Gifford 
and Professor Sturm chose to-day to drive over from Dur- 
ritt to attend divine services at Ginseng, for Bryce, always 
scholarly and eloquent, fairly surpassed himself this morn- 
ing.” 

“Well,” frankly declared Tom, “Dr. Gifford, Professor 
Sturm and Editor Broadus may have been edified by all 
that about ‘changing viewpoints,’ the ‘theology of compre- 
hension,’ and so forth ; but it was a little too steep for me. I 
enjoy Bryce’s sermons when he deals with practical, every- 
day religion, but when he soars into the realms of transcen- 
dentalism, my earth-bound pinions can’t follow him. What 
say you, Miss Della ? Could you grasp all the brilliant wis- 
dom of this morning’s discourse?” 

“I must confess that although my wits stood on tiptoe 
all the time, I couldn’t grasp nearly all that he said,” Miss 
Mason acknowledged; “but perhaps that’s the very reason 
I liked the sermon. I don’t care to have things made too 
plain. Nearly every one, I believe, liked the sermon this 
morning. I heard Mr. Foster say after service that it was 
the best discourse Mr. Bryce had ever preached here.” 

“Daddy Foster was, of course, in a position to judge, as 
he slept straight through the sermon from start to finish,” 
dryly observed young Slocum. 

“The new-fangled philosophy which is being delivered 


SUNDAY AFTERNOON VISITORS 191 

from the pulpits nowadays makes me doubt sometimes 
whether modern preachers know exactly what they do 
believe, or that they have any fixed religion at all,” observed 
young Henson. 

As no one else made any answer to this, Kate, who felt 
that it behooved her to take a more active part in the con- 
versation of her guests, said: “But, Mr. Henson, are you 
not confusing two quite distinct things? Isn’t there a vast 
difference between religion itself and the various beliefs or 
doctrines on religious subjects?” 

“You’re right, Katharine,” said Diana. 

“A distinction without a difference, I should say ; but 
perhaps if you’ll explain more fully, Miss Kate, I may catch 
your point,” said John. 

“I fear I can’t express myself very clearly, but my 
meaning is something like this: Religion is a life, while 
the ever-changing religious doctrines are but so many dif- 
ferent explanations of that life,” replied the girl. 

“Granting that,” returned John, “yet the old proverb, 
that one must cut his garment according to his cloth, still 
holds good. That is, if religion is a life, that life is shaped 
(or should be shaped) in accordance with one’s creed or 
schedule of beliefs. Hence, practically one’s religion and 
one’s religious doctrines are one and the same thing.” 

“I think, John” — here spoke Broadus, condescendingly 
— “that you misapprehend Miss Marshall’s thought. If I 
understand you, Miss Marshall, you mean this : that one 
should distinguish between the essence of religion or Chris- 
tianity and its multifarious creeds, or, in other words, that 
Christianity is something widely different from adherence 
to creedal formulas. Is that correct?” 

“Oh, yes, thank you, Mr. Broadus. You’ve put it nicely 
— far better than I could,” answered Kate. “The point I 
meant to emphasize is that the fundamental principles upon 


192 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


which religion — that is, the Christian life — is based don’t 
vary from one generation to another, but are the same yes- 
terday, to-day and forever; while points of views, creeds, 
beliefs are constantly changing.” 

“Well, then,” rejoined Henson, “I for one wish they 
wouldn’t. I want a system of religious beliefs as unchang- 
ing as the Rock of Ages.” 

“After all,” observed Broadus with his air of superior 
wisdom, “the gospel message as proclaimed by our more 
conservative thinkers is much the same as that delivered by 
our younger, more liberal-minded scholars. The only dif- 
ference is that the former cling to the older, narrower 
forms of delivery, while the latter seek to clothe the mes- 
sage in terms of modern thought.” 

“If,” said John, dryly, “the toploftical stuff that’s being 
handed out to us from some of our pulpits at the pres- 
ent day is modern thought, I don’t believe that Modern 
Thought, even when spelled with capital letters, knows 
exactly what the message of salvation is ; or else it is so 
wrapped about with philosophical speculations, and so con- 
cealed by the garments of high-flown verbiage and flowers 
of speech, that it would take an X-ray to discover the mes- 
sage to ordinary minds.” 

After a pause Diana said: “Really, you know, Mr. 
Broadus, some of these modern ideas are rather startling; 
at least, they are to me. For instance, that view that Moses 
didn’t write the Pentateuch, but that it is a compilation 
from the works of many writers who lived at a much later 
period than the Mosaic.” 

“Yes,” added Kate, “I must acknowledge that doctrine 
seems to me not only startling, but blasphemous ; for does 
not Jesus himself refer to these writings as being the work 
of Moses? Hence, if Moses didn’t write them, Jesus was 
mistaken; and if so, what of his own infallibility?” 


SUNDAY AFTERNOON VISITORS 


193 


“And,” added Diana, “some of the expounders of this 
new theology aren’t content with turning our beliefs as 
regards the Old Testament topsyturvy, but they attack the 
New Testament, too. The authorship of Hebrews is ques- 
tioned, as well as the authority and inspiration of Paul’s 
teachings in others of his writings. Worse even than that! 
some of the modern thought theologians claim that the 
accounts given by Matthew and Luke of the birth of Christ 
are unauthentic.” 

“Precisely,” agreed Tom. “And I’d like to know what 
you church-members all over this broad land mean to do 
about it.” 

“I for one,” declared Katharine, blushing, but speaking 
decidedly, “am going to reject all such new theology, and 
cling to the older, safer ways of thinking.” 

“And I, too,” said Diana, stoutly. 

“I understand little about and care less for these higher 
critical — or hypercritical — doctrines. The old way of think- 
ing is good enough for me,” was Della’s dictum. 

“Much of the trouble and the mistaken ideas in regard 
to parts of the Scriptures are due to the Bible’s having 
passed through so many translations ; and thus much extra- 
neous and irrelevant matter which was not in the original 
text has crept into its pages,” said Shelburn Broadus, 
didactically. 

“I think the only safe thing to do is to accept as Holy 
Writ every word; and, like old man Jucklin, ‘believe in the 
good Book frum kiver to kiver/ ” declared John Henson in 
his whimsical, half-jesting way. 

Katharine, ignoring John’s remark, said: “Why, Mr. 
Broadus, that view only makes the study of the Bible the 
more bewildering to us who aren’t Greek and Hebrew 
scholars. How are we to know what parts of the Scrip- 
tures are interpolations, and what are not?” 


194 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


‘‘And,” subjoined Diana, “according to higher critics, 
about half the Bible consists of interpolations.” 

“And the other half,” laughed Della, “is figurative lan- 
guage which means something totally different from what 
it says.” 

“I’ll tell you what it is, good people,” said John, and 
there was no hint of jesting in his tone, and he spoke more 
soberly than was his wont, “a system of theology, I don’t 
care how scholarly it may be, which gives us an expurgated 
Old Testament and a discredited New isn’t to my notion ; 
and if I ever do become a Christian, it will be by accepting 
Christ as revealed in the old-fashioned, unexpurgated Bible 
that my forefathers loved and reverenced as the inspired 
message from heaven.” 


FRIENDS IN ADVERSIT\ 


1<J.> 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

FRIENDS IN ADVERSITY. 

For friendship, of itself an holy tie, 

Is made more sacred by adversity . — Drydm 

Ralph Moreland and Philip Bryce, living under the 
same roof and having many similar tastes and pursuits, 
had long been close friends ; and now that each was suffer- 
ing from disappointment and heartache, they were more 
than ever attracted to one another, although each main- 
tained a strict reticence concerning his troublous love 
affairs. They made free use of each other’s books, maga- 
zines and other belongings ; and there were few of their 
leisure evenings which they did not spend together. 

One evening Moreland, at one side of the big center 
table in Bryce’s room, sat writing and smoking. At the 
other side Philip, sunk into the depths of an arm-chair, was 
reading. The evening was rainy, and unusually cold for 
June, and the room, lit by a bright student lamp, looked 
very cozy. 

Presently Moreland, as he rose to relight his pipe, 
glanced across at his companion, who had thrown aside his 
magazine, and sat tilted back in his chair, his hands in his 
pockets, his legs stretched out before him, his abstracted 
gaze fixed upon a picture over the mantel. 

‘‘Why don’t you ever smoke, Bryce?” asked Moreland, 
resuming his chair and puffing away at his pipe. “I find 
tobacco a great solace when Pm worn out in body or have 
the blues. You haven’t any strait-laced notions on the sub- 
ject of preachers using tobacco, else you wouldn’t let me 
smoke in your den, as is my nightly custom.”- 

“I’m constituted differently from you, Moreland,” was 


19ti 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


the reply. “You can indulge in a pipe or a cigar when you 
choose, and when you choose you ca-n let smoking alone. 
But with me it would be different. It would be as impos- 
sible for me to be a moderate smoker as it would be for me 
to be a moderate drinker. With tobacco as with intoxicants, 
it must be for me, ‘Touch not, taste not, handle not/ or else 
slavery to the habit. It took a terrible bout of typhoid, 
when I was a lad of twenty (a fever which, the doctors 
said, was much aggravated and complicated by my having 
been an excessive cigarette-smoker), to cure me of the 
cigarette habit. Since then I’ve never dared use tobacco in 
any form. If I began again, I’d soon be a slave to the 
weed.” 

Moreland said no more, but resumed his writing. When 
he had finished his letters, both men sat awhile in silence, 
each busy with his own thoughts. 

At last, and after some hesitation, the older man again 
spoke. “Philip,” he said, “you won’t, I trust, misconstrue 
the motive of so sincere a friend as I am, if I say a certain 
thing to you, will you?” 

“Certainly not ; especially after that persuasive pre- 
amble of yours,” laughed Philip. “So, say on ; don’t be 
afraid.” 

The doctor toyed with a glass paper-weight lying on the 
table, and still hesitated until his companion said enedur- 
agingly, “What is it, Ralph? Let me know what is on 
your mind.” 

Moreland, thus urged, said, “It is this — I sometimes 
fear that some of those speculative doctrines of yours 
might, to some extent, prove stumbling-blocks to some of 
your hearers.” 

“ ‘Stumbling-blocks’ !” exclaimed the preacher. “I hope 
not. It is my endeavor to remove obstacles, instead of 
placing them.” 


FRIENDS IN ADVERSITY 


197 


“I know that, I know that,” was the quick and hearty 
rejoinder. 

“Then, what did you mean about ‘stumbling-blocks’?” 

“Well, for instance,” answered the doctor, “those new- 
fangled ideas of yours about miracles, and concerning the 
authenticity of certain Scriptures and the inspiration — or, 
rather, the now-inspiration — of some other portions of the 
Bible; also that idea about the Book of Job being nothing 
more than uninspired Hebrew drama ; besides various other 
of your peculiar views and notions.” 

“My views! My notions! Well, I like that!” exclaimed 
Bryce with enjoyment. “Why, so far from their being my 
peculiar views, they are held by all the Biblical scholarship 
of the day. More than that, I’m certain they are correct 
and sound.” 

“As to their correctness and soundness, I'm not myself 
enough of a Hebrew and Greek historian and critic to 
judge,” answered Ralph, modestly, “but — ” 

“But what?” asked Bryce, as the doctor hesitated. 

“But even if they are true,” answered Moreland — “and, 
as I said, I’m not in a position to argue on that head — do 
you think it altogether wise to advocate these new ideas 
quite so freely as you have been doing lately?” 

“But, Moreland, even the most carping critic among 
those who cling ^stubbornly to the old ways of thinking 
can’t expect that the thought of to-day on matters of Scrip- 
tural analysis and interpretation is to be fashioned upon the 
pattern of a former generation. Surely, then, you, of all 
men, are too broad-minded to expect such a thing. Fur- 
thermore, as I’ve stated again and again in my preaching, 
it isn’t our belief in this or that theory of Scriptural 
exegesis that has saving power. It’s our acceptance of 
Christ and his teachings.” 

“But don’t some of these new views dwarf or slur over 


198 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


Christ’s teachings or tend to invalidate them?” mildly ven- 
tured Moreland. 

“Oh, no ? no indeed,” was the preacher’s emphatic reply. 

“Well, waiving that point,” returned the doctor, “you’ve 
admitted that the acceptance or the rejection of these new 
theories has no saving power; so, why not cut them out 
of your sermons, and confine your preaching to the things 
that do count — the vital principles of Christianity? Discuss 
these critical speculations in private as much as you please, 
b'ut let your sermons deal with practical issues and the 
things that lead men Christward. Then you will certainly 
be on safe ground. Don’t you think that sound advice?” 

Philip sat awhile in deep thought and then said: “Well, 
old fellow, in your blunt, uncompromising way you strike 
straight out from the shoulder. You’ve hit the mark, too, 
and I am going to hearken to your admonitions. In future 
my preaching shall deal only with those practical, essential 
truths which are held by all religionists, whether of the old 
or the new school of thought.” 

“Thank you, Philip, for taking what I said in such good 
part,” said Ralph, taking up a newspaper, as though to end 
the subject. 

Bryce, too, picked up a periodical, but he did not resume 
his reading. After musing some time, he again spoke. “See 
here, Moreland, you were so straightforward in what you 
said awhile ago, that I hope you’ll be equally frank with me 
on another matter.” 

“What is it?” asked the doctor. 

“Are the members of this church finding fault with my 
preaching or disapproving of me in any way? Please tell 
me, plainly. If they are, I should know it; since, in that 
case, I’m not doing the good here that I had hoped, and I 
should resign.” 

“I hope you don’t think anything I said just now was 


FRIENDS IN ADVERSITY 


189 


meant to imply that your work wasn’t acceptable to your 
congregation. What I said was meant merely as a hint for 
your future work, and not as an implication that the church 
isn’t pleased with you. So far as I know (and I think I 
do know pretty thoroughly), the people here love you and 
think you are doing excellent work.” 

“Of course,” resumed Bryce, presently, “I’m aware that 
Miss Hogg and her sister have been set against me almost 
from the start — ever since I tried to make peace between 
them and Miss Charity Bird. And for some weeks after 
that concert last March the Fowlers, too, were anything but 
cordial — or, rather, I should have said that Mrs. Fowler 
wasn’t. So far as Mr. Fowler is concerned, he has always, 
so far as he dared do so with the fear of his more assertive 
wife before his eyes, manifested a friendly spirit toward 
me. And of late even Mrs. Fowler has appeared cordial.” 

“Of course she has,” laughingly agreed Ralph. “Didn’t 
you dine with them when ‘Daut’ was home for the Easter 
holiday, and didn’t you praise that accomplished young 
woman’s playing? To say nothing of that drive you took 
her, or of the music you ordered and sent her with your 
compliments. Those deeds more than condone your earlier 
offense of not advocating Miss Fowler’s being sent for to 
take part in that concert. Oh, yes, you’re thoroughly rein- 
stated in Sister Julia’s graces, and all you’ve got to do to 
remain in favor is to occasionally show Daut some slight 
attentions during her summer vacation. As for the hotel 
people, Mrs. Jane was never very bitter against you. Only, 
she, like poor, henpecked Jim Dick Fowler, doesn’t dare to 
openly oppose the ruling household power. So, you see, in 
reality Miranda Hogg is the only one of the two hundred 
and twenty-odd members of your church who is opposed to 
you; and she’s so ignorant and prejudiced and unreasonable 
that no one pays attention to her likes or dislikes. Leav- 


200 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


ing her out of the question, you are solid with your con- 
gregation; and that, let me tell you, is what none of your 
predecessors could boast. Why, man, you’re the only 
preacher we’ve ever had that those two contrary old fel- 
lows, Brer Foster and Brer Lane, ever could agree about. 
Before you came, if one of them asserted a thing to be 
white, the other would swear it was black, for no other 
reason than a desire to oppose his enemy. As a conse- 
quence of their contrariness, our church was always more 
or less divided into factions; but under your administration 
these two cantankerous brethren are as smooth as silk. Rest 
easy. The people love you, and the church is prospering as 
never before.” 

Again Moreland took up his paper, and was soon 
absorbed in its contents, but Bryce, although he picked up 
his magazine, did not read. He sat idly turning its leaves, 
his mind on other things. At length he said: “In spite of 
what you say, Moreland, about the satisfactory condition 
of things here, I sometimes heartily wish I hadn’t accepted 
the call for three years. A spirit of restlessness is upon me, 
and I long for a change.” 

“I sympathize with you there ; I, too, wish I could get 
away from this place, and never come back to it,” acknowl- 
edged Moreland. 

“Of late,” continued Philip, “I’ve felt that it would have 
been better had I done like my chum, David Jones, and had 
gone back home as soon as I had graduated from the 
university.” 

“For my sake, at least, I’m glad you didn’t, Phil,” said 
Ralph, heartily. 

“If you put it that way,” said Bryce, “I’ve more reason 
than you have, to be thankful. Your friendship and com- 
panionship are very helpful to me.” 

After awhile, Moreland inquired, “What has become of 


FRIENDS IN ADVERSITY 


201 


that other compatriot of yours — Mr. Carey — who spent a 
few days with you here last fall? He’s still in America, 
isn’t he ?” 

“Yes, he came over when Jones and I did; but during 
his second year at college he was called home on some 
important family matters. He was back in Australia nearly 
three years. He then came to America again. He gradu- 
ated at Lexington last June, and he is now preaching in one 
of the upper counties of this State. He doesn’t return to 
Australia until I do, two years hence.” 


202 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

THE LIGHT THAT FAILED. 

The process which starts with rejecting the objective atonement has its 
natural and inevitable issue in the denial that Christ has any essential part 
in the gospel. We can only assent to such a view by renouncing the New 
Testamei t as a whole. — Dr. Denny . 

Moreland was perfectly sincere when he told Bryce that 
Miranda Hogg and Jane Burgess were the only disaffected 
members of the church at Ginseng, for, since his rupture 
with Diana, Ralph had held little social intercourse with any 
one except Philip himself. 

“What did you think of Brother Bryce’s lecture at 
prayer-meeting last night, Brother Henson?” asked Mr. 
Mason, one rainy afternoon in June, when Henson was 
calling at the Mason homestead. 

“Ah ! Robert,” answered the visitor, with a sad shake 
of the head, “we’re hearing strange doctrines nowadays.” 

“Why, what could be found amiss in Brother Bryce’s 
little talk last night?” asked Mrs. Mason. “I thought what 
he said about the humility and reverence with which one 
should approach God in prayer was exceedingly helpful.” 

“Yes, that part was all right,” Henson agreed ; “but it 
was upon the next phase of his subject that I must take 
issue with him. He spoke as though its reflex action upon 
the human soul is all there is to prayer.” 

“I didn’t understand him that way,” said Mrs. Mason. 

“Did you not?” Henson replied. “To me the whole 
trend of his thought was that prayer is altogether subjec- 
tive in its benefits ; and, if that be true, Sister Mason, don’t 
you see that it cuts the very heart out of prayer?” 

“No, Mr. Henson,” answered Mary Mason, “I didn’t 


THE LIGHT THAT FAILED 


203 


gather that idea from what he said; and really, I must say 
that I find nothing dangerous or even misleading in any of 
his teachings — although they are perhaps slightly tinctured 
with the so-called New Theology.” 

“But what we want, my dear madam, is the theology of 
the Bible,” persisted Henson. 

“Oh, yes, certainly, that of course,” she assented; “but 
may not the New Theology be that?” 

Henson, too much in earnest to heed her question, went 
on: “If the Christian Church has a distinctive plea, that 
plea is for the restoration of primitive, apostolic Chris- 
tianity, which means implicit obedience to the commands 
of the New Testament and unswerving reliance upon Bib- 
lical statements and promises, to the exclusion of all human 
dogmas, inferences or speculations concerning them. In 
short, we as a people stand for a return to the direct, plainly 
stated teachings of Christ and his apostles; and I, for one, 
maintain that no man who is unprepared or unwilling to 
give us that kind of teaching has any claim to be considered 
a minister of the Christian Church.” 

Mary Mason held her peace, but her husband said, 
“Pm beginning to fear that Milton Bright and I were 
wrong, Henson, when we overruled your hesitancy about 
calling our present minister.” 

“I erred more grievously, Robert, when, after I had 
given in to you and Milton about calling Bryce, I advocated 
a Gamaliel-like policy in dealing with him. Had we spoken 
to him candidly at the outset, it would have been much bet- 
ter for him and for the church,” acknowledged the older 
man. 

“Every one likes Brother Philip,” said Mrs. Mason. 
“We never before this had a preacher so indefatigable in 
visiting the sick, rousing the congregation to activity in 
every line of church work, nor one who was so popular 


204 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


with the young, nor one who commanded so large an 
attendance at every church service.” 

“He has a most lovable personality,” answered Henson, 
“and there can be no question as to his talents, his zeal or 
his activity ; but I can’t see that his presence in a sick-room 
or in the abode of sorrow or affliction is any more helpful 
than would be that of any other cheery visitor. Nor do I 
see that his influence with the young people of his con- 
gregation is especially uplifting. It appears to me to be no 
more so than that of any other cultured, pleasant-natured 
young man, for I don’t believe that he ever, outside of his 
sermons, seeks by direct word, suggestion or example to 
lead those with whom he associates to think of spiritual 
matters. And, as for the appreciation which so many mani- 
fest in his sermons, it is purely literary or aesthetic.” 

“Like you, Brother Henson,” acknowledged Robert 
Mason, “I think he lacks spirituality. And more than that, 
I fear those new views of his on many Scriptural themes.” 

“Have you ever spoken with Milton Bright on this 
matter?” inquired Henson, presently. 

Mason replied : “Knowing how intimate Brother Philip 
is with the Brights, and how much as one of themselves he 
is considered by the family at Willow Brook, I hesitated 
for some time to say anything to Milton; but last week I 
ventured to broach the subject to him, and I find that he 
thinks just as you and I do about it.” 

“Well, I must say, Brother Henson, in spite of what you 
and Robert have said, that I see no dangerous tendencies in 
Brother Bryce’s teachings nor any lack of Scriptural truth,” 
stoutly maintained Mrs. Mason. 

Her husband rejoined : “I grant you, Mary, that he does 
preach a kind of spirituality, in a vague, intangible sort of 
way — beautiful to listen to, and which sounds like gospel 
truth. I admit, too, that his text is always taken from the 


THE LIGHT THAT FAILED 


205 


Bible; but, when taken, instead of being used to elucidate 
some divine truth, it seems to serve him merely as a peg- 
on which to hang all sorts of highflown sentiments — good 
enough in their way, but not what the soul hungering for 
the bread of life needs.” 

Henson took up the subject. “Saving faith, repentance 
toward God, hell, and judgment to come, redemptive suffer- 
ing, the Holy Spirit, the supreme authority of the word of 
God, are never urged, and but rarely mentioned, except in 
a casual, hasty, half-hearted way that fails to press the sub- 
ject home to the listener.” 

“Henson, why don’t you have a talk with Bryce on these 
matters?” asked Mason, after another space of silence. 

“I’ve been thinking of it. As senior elder of the church, 
it’s my duty to do so ; and I shall try to see him before 
long.” 

“I hope you will,” answered Mason. “You’d know just- 
how to approach him so as to impress him, and at the same 
time not to hurt his feelings.” 

Peter Henson, after reiterating his intention to talk with 
his minister, and agreeing with his brother officer and Mrs. 
Mason that they must not discuss any of these matters with 
the others of the congregation, took his departure. 

On the Saturday and Sunday following that Thursday 
afternoon conference in Robert Mason’s sitting-room, 
there was held at Hastings a convention of all the 
Christian Endeavor societies of Filson and adjoining 
counties. Bryce had been invited to make the address 
at the Sunday afternoon session of this convention. 
He consented, and, feeling this to be an occasion of 
especial importance, he put aside for the time all his 
troubles and perplexities, and concentrated every thought 
and energy upon the preparation of an address. He 
chose as his subject, “Self-realization.” His address was 


206 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


enthusiastically received by the convention; but to Peter 
Henson, who made one of the vast audience that Sunday 
afternoon in the public hall at Hastings, the teachings of 
that address seemed unscriptural and dangerous, and he 
concluded it was high time to speak to Philip. Accordingly, 
he set forth for Elmarch early the next morning. 

Now that the enthusiasm which had buoyed him up 
during the work of the past week was over, Philip’s for- 
mer unhappy mood had returned in full force this Monday 
morning, and there was the shadow of perplexity and sor- 
row on the face he lifted to greet his visitor, which touched 
the kind heart of the older man, who, after they were 
seated, said solicitously and with a keen but kindly look: 
“You’re not looking at all well, Brother Philip. Your color 
is not good ; there’s a tired look in your eyes, and you cer- 
tainly have lost flesh this last month. I fear you’re over- 
working; and probably, too, the unusually hot weather of 
the last two or three days is trying.” 

“Oh,” said Bryce, with a fitful smile, “I can stand any 
amount of hot weather. You forget that Pm a South Aus- 
tralian.” 

“Whatever the cause,” rejoined the caller, “your looks 
indicate that you're not in your usual health ; and it’s a good 
thing that your vacation is near at hand. Let me see! It 
begins sometime about the middle of next month. I think.” 

“Yes, about July sixteenth.” 

“You’ve arranged for that young Brother Carey, who 
spent a week or so with you last winter, to fill your pulpit 
while you’re away, have you not?” Henson inquired. 

“At present Carey’s engaged half his time with a church 
in Woodford County, and can come here only on the first 
and third Sundays. I haven’t yet found a man who can 
preach for us on the second and fourth Sundays; but I 
hope to find one before I leave,” answered Philip. 


THE LIGHT THAT FAILED 


207 


'‘If you don’t succeed in this quest,” said the elder, “we 
can manage without preaching for those remaining Sun- 
days of your absence. So, don’t worry about it while you’re 
away. You’ve decided to go to Colorado, haven’t you ?” 

“Yes, sir. I’ve never been west of the Mississippi, and 
I want to see your grand Rocky Mountain scenery.” 

“You’ll enjoy it, I’m sure ; but while you’re about it, 
why not go on to California?” 

“That wouldn’t seem like new ground,” returned Philip, 
“for, from what I’ve heard about Californian scenery, cli- 
mate and vegetation, that State must be much like my part 
of Australia.” 

“And for that reason, all the more enjoyable to you, I 
should think,” said the older man. 

“No,” replied Philip, with a sigh; “on the contrary, it 
would only make me homesick.” 

“At all events,” said Henson, “you’ll enjoy Colorado, 
and I trust the trip will do you great good.” 

After a short silence, the visitor again spoke : “Brother 
Bryce, I have come over this morning to have a serious talk 
with you, and I fear some of the things I have to say will 
wound you. This is all the more to be deplored because 
you seem already in low spirits ; but the matter about which 
I wish to speak is one that should not be postponed. Be- 
sides, I hope you know that I would not say anything to 
hurt your feelings, if it could be avoided.” 

“I believe that, Brother Henson. Furthermore, I never 
take offense where none is meant. So, speak freely.” 

“First, then, about your speech at the convention yester- 
day.” 

“Ah! what was amiss with that?” asked Philip, flushing 
sensitively. 

“So far as in me lies,” replied the elder, “I mean to tell 
you. But first allow me to say that it was a well-prepared, 


208 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


scholarly production, and ably delivered. As a writer and 
a speaker, you are, for so young a man, rarely gifted. You 
possess one power, too, which few even of our best orators 
have. Instead of bewildering or overpowering or hypno- 
tizing your hearers, you stir and stimulate their thought. 
But, my dear brother, do you always stimulate them to 
think rightly?” 

“It is my earnest endeavor to do so,” answered the 
young man, somewhat startled at the question. 

“I’m sure of that, Philip,” was the hearty reply. “But 
about that address. I must say that either your idea of 
salvation is wrong, or else I have misapprehended the whole 
scheme of redemption. I believe your definition was this, 
‘Salvation is making the best of the best that is in man/ 
Am I correct?” 

“Yes, sir, those were the words; but, while I believe 
them to be true, I don’t claim them as my own. You 
remember I said the definition was a quotation.” 

“Yes, I remember,” Henson answered; “but I can’t 
accept that definition. It is, to say the least, misleading.” 

“In what way?” 

“It misses entirely the Scriptural meaning of the thing" 
defined. Salvation, in a Bible sense, is the change wrought 
in the human heart by divine grace through faith. It means 
the begetting of a new heart. Isn’t that your conception of 
salvation ?” 

“Yes — I suppose so — something like that,” was the 
young preacher’s halting admission. 

“But,” continued Henson, “the definition you gave your 
audience yesterday isn’t, as I just said, in accord with that 
Scriptural meaning of salvation. Hence, your whole line of 
thought based on that definition was erroneous.* In short, 
if you will pardon such plain speaking, it was no better than 
some ethical but pagan, or at best human, system of phi- 


THE LIGHT THAT FAILED 


209 


losophy. Salvation such as that has nothing to do with 
grace, faith, repentance, the work of the Holy Spirit, or the 
sacrifice on Calvary ; but it means solely the development of 
the germ of good already in the natural man/’ 

“But, Brother Henson, you surely will not deny that 
salvation does develop the best that is in the natural 
man ?” 

“Assuredly I don’t deny that,” Mr. Henson answered, 
“but that development is the effect of salvation — it isn’t 
salvation itself. A gospel based upon such a theory as that 
which your definition sets forth is a devitalized gospel 
ignoring Gethsemane and Calvary.” 

“Oh, no ! no ! no !” vehemently protested Bryce. 

“But if salvation were what you define it,” asked Hen- 
son, “what necessity would there have been for our 
Saviour’s coming into the world?” 

“To embody for us all purity, love and righteousness; 
to become our perfect teacher, our inspiration, our divine 
model by which we can fashion our lives unto the likeness 
of God,” answered the preacher. 

“He is all that,” returned the older man, “and infinitely 
more — our Redeemer, suffering, dying in our stead.” 

“Ah!” declared the young man, with a wise shake of his 
head, “that old substitutionary theory is unethical and con- 
tradictory of eternal truth.” 

“How unethical? How contradictory?” was the shocked 
inquiry. 

“Unethical, Brother Henson,” rejoined Philip, gently, 
but with conviction, “because, for the innocent to be made 
to suffer for the guilty, violates the basic principle of all 
equity and justice. Or, as Martineau puts it, ‘The transfer- 
ence of guilt from one individual to another standing on the 
same plane involves a contradiction of the first principle 
of morals/ Contradictory, because, as Channing says, ‘It 


210 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


shows God, or the Godhead, as making atonement or sac- 
rifice to himself.’ This whole theory of sacrificial, atoning, 
propitiatory salvation is Jewish, and opposed to the Chris- 
tian religion.” 

“Not so!” thundered Peter Henson, bringing his 
clenched fist down upon the table with resounding force. 
“Christianity is not an opposed or a contrasted religion to 
Judaism. It is the development, the fulfillment of it. You 
astound me, young man. I can’t believe that you realize 
what you are saying; or else, you’re merely taking this 
position for argument’s sake.” 

“No, indeed, I am not,” protested Philip. 

His visitor went on as though he had not spoken : “This 
principle of vicarious atonement is the central thought of 
the gospel. It’s the pivot on which revolves all New Testa- 
ment truth. It’s the chain of pure gold running through 
the entire woof of divine revelation. Take it out of the 
scheme of redemption, and what is left? A Christ whose 
mission is nothing more than that of a regenerator of 
society. Ah, my boy, my boy!” he went on as he gazed 
sadly at his young preacher, “if that’s where this vaunted 
New Theology lands one, its votaries need to get back into 
leading-strings. So far as any real conception of spiritual 
truth is concerned, they’re too feeble to walk alone.” 

“But,” returned Philip, too intent on his view of the 
subject to notice this gibe at the New Thought apostles, 
“the doctrine that Christ’s mission on earth was to appease 
the wrath of Jehovah gives one a terrible and repellant con- 
ception of God, and — ” 

“ ‘Terrible and repellant’ !” interrupted Henson. “What 
is there terrible or repellant in the truth that God is just 
as well as merciful?” 

“But that is it — it doesn’t show the justice of God, but 
the contrary,” protested Philip. “All the best of modem 


Not so/'' thundered Peter Henson. 


















' 





i. 









THE LIGHT THA T FAILED 


211 


theological scholarship now rejects that vicarious atonement 
theory, Brother Henson. Just hear what Horace Bushnell, 
Harnack, Dr. Cheyne and Ritschl say on the subject/’ 

The young man turned around in his study-chair so 
as to face the revolving bookcase at his left, and rapidly 
selecting several volumes, began searching for the passages 
wanted. 

Henson, who in his excitement had thrust aside his 
chair, risen, and was now pacing the floor, with a wave of 
his hand indicating that he cared nothing for the treasures 
of human wisdom with which the eager young man would 
have enlightened him, quoted, with an ease and volubility 
which only long and close reading of the Scriptures could 
have given, the following passages: 

“ ‘Christ also hath once suffered for sins, the just for 
the unjust, that he might bring us to God.’ (a) 

“ ‘Christ hath redeemed us from the curse of the law, 
being made a curse for us.’ (b) 

“ ‘Christ died for our sins according to the scrip- 
tures.’ (c) 

“ ‘But we see Jesus, who for a little while was made 
lower than the angels for the suffering of death, crowned 
with glory and honor; that he by the grace of God should 
taste death for every man.’ (d) 

“ ‘Being justified freely by his grace through the 
redemption that is in Christ Jesus: whom God set forth to 
be a propitiation through faith by his blood, to shew his 
righteousness for the remission of sins that are past, 
through the forbearance of God.’ (e) 

“ ‘He is the propitiation for our sins ; and not for ours 
only, but also for the sins of the whole world/ (f) 

“ ‘Who his own self bare our sins in his own body on 


(a) Pet. 3:18; (b) Gal. 3:13; (c) 1 Cor. 15:3; (d) Ileb. 2:19; (e> 


212 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


the tree, that we, being dead to sins, should live unto right- 
eousness: by whose stripes ye were healed.’ (a) 

“ ‘Herein is love, not that we loved God, but that he 
loved us, and sent his Son to be the propitiation for our 
sins.’ ” (b) 

Finally, Philip, seeing that Henson was in no mood to 
listen to his books, thrust them aside, and said: “Brother 
Henson, please hear me a moment. If you’ll only allow me 
to explain myself more fully, you’ll see that we’re not so 
far apart, after all.” 

“I shall be glad indeed to find that I’ve misunderstood 
you,” said the old man, halting at the table, and looking 
wistfully at his companion. “For I’m more grieved about 
this than I can say. Go on,” he continued, seating himself 
again. “Let’s see if you can set this matter straight.” 

“First, then,” said Bryce, “is there any blasphemy, any 
infidelity, any tampering with the eternal verities in holding 
the idea that Jesus’ death was the inevitable result of his 
having lived a life of holy love and righteousness in a sin- 
cursed world?” 

“In a certain sense, no. But what of it?” 

“Therefore,” continued Philip, answering the admission, 
but not the question, “being true to his message and mission 
was what led him to the cross. You believe that, do you 
not?” 

“Certainly I believe it, but that doesn’t mean that his 
death was not in atonement for the sins of the world, or 
that he is not our Sin-bearer, our atoning Sacrifice. To 
become that was the chief aim of his earthly mission,” 
answered Henson. 

Bryce continued: “He was the great Teacher, divinely 
sent; but the world, expecting a different kind of leader, 


(a) I Pet. 2: 24; (b) 1 John 4: lc. 


THE LIGHT THAT FAILED 


213 


rejected his teachings, persecuted and crucified hirn. His 
fate on Calvary was the climax of tragedy. Yet it was the 
same tragedy, though in a much higher degree, as that 
which nearly seven hundred years earlier had befallen 
Isaiah, and that which at another period had Socrates, at 
another, Paul, and at a still later period, Savonarola or Rid- 
ley or Rogers, as central actor or victim. The same spirit 
actuated alike those who drank the hemlock, endured the 
rack, suffered the fagots, died on the cross. The defense 
of the right, the good of the world, divine, self-effacing love 
was the motive in each instance/' 

“Then," said Peter Henson, in a voice trembling with 
intense feeling, “the rack, the fagots, the hemlock mean as 
much, and appeal as forcibly to you, as the cross does." 

“Oh, no, no, no !" was the vehement protest. “Not by 
any means to the same degree." 

Henson, unheeding this, went on: “Wrong! egregiously, 
blasphemously wrong! Such a view dishonors the cross, 
dishonors our Redeemer. Isaiah, Socrates, Paul, Savona- 
rola, Ridley, Rogers, and the whole host of martyrs, died in 
defense of the right, or what they deemed the right; and 
their sacrifice reaches the highest point of human nobility. 
But our Saviour’s death means all that Isaiah’s did, all that 
Paul’s or Savonarola’s* or Rogers’ or Ridley’s, and infinitely 
more." 

“Yes," ejaculated Philip with fervor, glad that he could 
agree with his companion in this, “infinitely more ! It was 
more voluntary ; since He, unlike the others, saw the end 
from the beginning." 

“And far more than that, my brother," added Henson. 
“He died not only in defense of the right, and to show forth 
his infinite love for fallen humanity, but also as a ransom, 
a propitiation for our sins, that we through him might be 
saved. ‘He was wounded for our transgressions ; he was 


214 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


bruised for our iniquity; the chastisement of our peace was 
upon him; and with his stripes we are healed.’ Don’t you 
believe that?” 

Philip, who, while the older man was thus speaking, had 
sat with his elbow on the table, his hand shading his face, 
now, without meeting the eager, questioning gaze bent upon 
him, mutely shook his head. But presently, raising his 
troubled eyes to his companion, he .said in a wistful, husky 
voice : “It cuts me to the heart, dear Brother Henson, to 
wound and shock you thus; but I can not see this subject 
as you would have me do.” 

For a moment they sat in unbroken silence. Then Hen- 
son exclaimed: “This is far worse than I had feared. To 
think that you, a preacher of the gospel, Philip Bryce, our 
own well-beloved and trusted minister, should go so far 
astray as to repudiate the fundamental principle of Chris- 
tianity ! I am sick at heart Over you, Philip, whom I have 
loved with almost a father’s love ; and over the souls of this 
community, that we have blindly entrusted to your teach- 
ings.” 

“So far as in me lies, I shall at once remedy the latter 
part of your trouble, dear Brother Henson,” said Philip, 
firmly but with deep respect. “The only right thing for me 
to do is to express to you my sorrow, and to tender my 
resignation of the work of this church. I shall write my 
resignation now, to take effect at once.” 

“Let us not act hastily in this. Wait, Brother Philip. 
Don’t write anything,” said Henson, motioning with his 
hand to arrest the young man, who had already drawn 
writing materials toward him, and was dipping his pen into 
the ink. 

“Let me think a moment,” added Henson. 

“Indeed, I think,” protested Bryce, “that it would be 
better for me to resign at once: but, if you so advise, I 


THE LIGHT THAT FAILED 


215 


shall continue my work here until my vacation begins. 
Then, when I go away, leave my resignation with you. You 
can, in the six or seven weeks of my vacation, have time to 
find another preacher to take my place altogether.” 

The church officer, after some thought, said: ‘‘No, take 
no action in this matter until you return. Then, much as 
we all love you, and much as your leaving us is to be 
regretted for other reasons, you should, I think, resign the 
care of this church, if you then still hold the same doctrinal 
views as you have to-day revealed to me. But I can’t help 
thinking (though it may be that my earnest wish is father 
to the thought) that these alarming ideas, of which even 
before this morning I have seen some slight evidences no./ 
and then in your sermons, are but a passing phase of 
thought which, when you have more closely and prayerfully 
investigated, you will relinquish. Wait, then, at least until 
after you get back from your little outing, before we decide 
upon what our future course should be.” 

The preacher finally consented to this advice, and in a 
short while the elder rose to go. Bryce likewise rose; and 
the two, with their right hands clasped, stood for a moment 
looking into each other’s faces. 

Presently Philip’s eyes were suffused, and the tears were 
coursing down Henson’s cheeks as he, laying his left hand 
on the young man’s shoulder, said tenderly: “Philip, thus 
far in your upright young manhood you have never, I think, 
grappled with and been overpowered by any great tempta- 
tion ; hence your own strength has been sufficient for you. 
But when the hour of your extremity does come (as sooner 
or later it will come, my boy), you, realizing your own 
impotence, will reach out and up to a power mightier than 
self. You will then, my dear boy, begin to spell out the 
meaning of Calvary. You will then find Christ.” 

After Peter Henson had gone, Philip Bryce, disregard- 


216 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


ing the clanging peal of the dining-room gong, and telling 
the negro who a moment later came to summon him to din- 
ner that he did not wish anything to eat, locked his door, 
and went back to his chair. Here, with his face buried in 
his arms on the table, he sat in troubled silence, reviewing 
the past. 

Not once during his five years of preparation and one of 
ministry had he ever seriously been troubled with doubts as 
to his fitness for the sacred vocation to which he, without 
premeditation, had impulsively committed himself. But 
now as memory, spanning the intervening years, brought 
again before him that summer night scene in the old church 
at Merdin, and that bedside interview with his mother next 
morning, he for the first time understood the full signifi- 
cance of William Hammond’s admonition to the three 
young volunteers, and of his own mother’s tender, troubled, 
warning words to her boy. He now began to realize that 
he had 'entered the ministry with unready hands and an 
unprepared 


EPISTOLARY 


217 


CHAPTER XXV. 

EPISTOLARY. 

During the summer, voluminous missives from the three 
oldest Bright children kept their teacher in touch with life 
at Willow Brook Farm. Other correspondents were no less 
kind in their efforts to keep her apprised of the happenings 
in the village social circle. 

In July, Ruth Vanarsdale wrote that Tom Slocum and 
Della Mason were to be married in the fall, and that he 
had leased Pleasant View, a charming cottage in the out- 
skirts of Ginseng, for the future home of himself and 
Della. Ruth also stated that Mr. Bryce had gone to Colo- 
rado, and that it was understood that he intended to take 
a tour through New Mexico and other Western States 
before returning to Kentucky. 

The same correspondent wrote that it was currently 
reported that Diana Henson was betrothed to Shelburn 
Broadus. “Poor, mistaken, impulsive Diana!” thought 
Kate as she read this last bit of information. “What hap- 
piness can she promise herself, married to that refrigerated 
piece of egotism, Shelburn Broadus, even if she does not 
still love Ralph Moreland — as I suspect she does — with 
every throb of her warm heart?” 

The slow weeks of that long summer dragged by with- 
out bringing Katharine any word from Philip Bryce. She 
tried to find consolation in the thought that he was unwor- 
thy, else he would not have allowed a trifling misunder- 
standing to estrange him from her. She called pride to her 
aid, and there were moments in which she cheated herself 
into the belief that she had effaced his image from her 
heart, but at other times she knew that her efforts were 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


vain, and that just as she had loved him in the beginning, 
she loved him now, and must love him to the end. 

At last she had a letter from Diana — at least, the hand- 
writing was Diana’s, but there was little of the real Diana 
in the production. There was much in the letter about 
Mr. Broadus — his fine talents, scholarly attainments and 
high-mindedness. There was still more about “honor and 
esteem” as a better foundation on which to erect an endur- 
ing superstructure of married happiness than the romantic 
rhapsodies of a first love. The studied, formal style in 
which she announced her engagement was, Kate thought, 
in painful contrast to the way Diana would have written, 
had the man she had promised to marry possessed the 
fealty and devotion of her generous, loving nature. Kate 
felt that she had lost not only her lover, but her best loved 
girl friend as well, for Diana, married to Shelburn Broadus, 
could never be to Kate the same bright, joyous, sympathetic 
friend she had been in the happy months that were gone. 

Late in the summer, Katharine had the following char- 
acteristic epistle from John Henson : 

“My Dear Miss Katharine: — I write to prepare you 
for the reception of the last two copies of the Jupiter, 
which I am sending under separate cover, with various 
items marked with red ink. Should you without warning 
alight on the tidings contained in said papers, even your 
stout nerves could not withstand the shock. 

“Item No. i was hurled from the Jupiter office last 
Thursday week, and fell upon the unsuspecting citizens of 
our erstwhile quiet village like a thunderbolt from a sunlit 
sky. It announces for September 15 a triple wedding — 
Thomas Slocum and Della Mason ; Rev. Charles Abner 
Maybloom and Pearl Octavia Slocum ; Dr. John C. Calhoun 
Goodman and Nellie Claire Slocum. The part of the above 


EPIS TOLAR Y 


219 


item which refers to the first mentioned couple may not 
surprise you, as it has long been apparent that .the title 
‘Platonics,’ by which Tom and Della designated the little 
guest they have been entertaining for the last six months, 
was merely a now de plume for an individual whose real 
name of four letters begins with an L and ends with an e. 
It’s the latter two-thirds of the announcement that has 
made our eyes fairly bulge out of our heads. Pearl 
unearthed her Maybloom, and Nell her Good-man, while 
on that Christmas visit to Paducah, and have corresponded 
with them ever since ; but the two swains were never so 
much as heard of by the rest of our villagers until they 
dawned upon our horizon, ten days ago. 

“The Rev. C. A. M. is a spectacled, bandboxy young 
theolog of Baptist persuasion, and has charge of a thriving 
church in southern Kentucky. Nell’s treasure-trove is a 
dentist — handsome, muscular. Looks strong enough to pull 
a rhinoceros’ teeth with ease. He’s a genial fellow with a 
jovial laugh and plenty to say for himself. The two lovers 
stayed in Ginseng four days, and made love to Nell and 
Pearl like the C. & O. express train — no stops at way 
stations ; refreshments served on board at all hours. The 
atmosphere about the Slocum mansion is so heavily charged 
with love that the very door-bell has a sentimental ring; 
and the future looks to Tom and Pearl and Nell like a 
bunch of thornless roses. 

“And now, I beg that before you read another line you 
provide yourself with camphor bottle and smelling-salts, 
and choose some nice, soft spot to fall on, for faint you 
undoubtedly will when you read my second item. 

“Are you ready? Then, here goes! Ruby Stump is 
married ! ! actually, irrevocably married ! This event, which, 
I assure you, has made an old man of me, happened Thurs- 
day last. All traffic is suspended, business paralyzed, and 


220 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


the nerves of the entire community knocked sky west and 
crooked by this most marvelous of Cupid’s capers. 

“ ‘Sweet are the uses of advertisement/ says Mrs. Part- 
ington or some other genius; and Ruby has proved the 
truth of the saying. It seems that about four months ago 
a certain Prof. Alonza Caxton advertised for a lady corre- 
spondent. Miss Stump answered the advertisement. A 
brisk exchange of letters followed: result, the blasting of 
my fondest hopes. 1 

“So far as I can make out, Ruby told no one of this 
matter until Professor Alonza actually arrived on the scene 
last Monday. He remained until Thursday afternoon, when 
he bore away Ginseng’s brightest jewel, after a quiet wed- 
ding in Mrs. Samuel Lane’s parlor. 

“Caxton is president of a college in Mansfield, O. He 
is reputed wealthy — having, I’m told, a fine mansion, con- 
siderable bank stock, and five lovely young olive branches 
resulting from two former matrimonial ventures. He’s 
nuts on ologies and classics and ‘furin tongues’; and Ruby 
asserts that he is at home in ten different languages. (I 
wonder in which one of the ten he did his courting.) In 
spite of this remarkable amount of learning, he doesn’t 
appear to suffer from the infliction known as swelled head. 
On the contrary, he’s meek and mild, and will, I think, 
make Ruby an excellent husband. There will be but one 
drawback to the future bliss of Mrs. Alonza Caxton No. 3 ; 
and that is, that the care of her five newly acquired host- 
ages to fortune will leave her scant time for the cultivation 
of the poetic muse. But the reading public’s loss in the 
little Caxtons’ gain, for Ruby, notwithstanding the vagaries 
of her erratic literary aspirations, is extremely kind-hearted, 
and she will make a good stepmother. 

“And now, having apprised you of the above startling 
happenings, I’ve a still sadder event to prognosticate; 


EP/S TOLAR Y 


221 


namely, that you are likely to lose your valued assistant 
teacher. You no doubt recollect Mr. Carey, that good- 
looking Australian who visited Bryce last winter. Well, he 
has been here again (as perhaps you already know), preach- 
ing for us on the first and third Sundays, while Bryce is off 
wandering through the ‘wild and woolly West.’ This Carey 
seems much taken with my dear cousin Ruth ; and, between 
you and me, she doesn’t appear at all averse to his atten- 
tions or intentions. 

“By the way, speaking of these dangerous young Aus- 
tralians, Bryce hasn’t written a line to any one here since 
he departed on his travels. I mean to write him in a day 
or two, and ask him what he means by treating us with 
utter disdain. Perhaps, though, you have been more for- 
tunate than the rest of us, in this respect. I hope so, and 
also that he gives you good accounts of himself. I like 
Philip. He’s one of the finest fellows I know — in spite of 
his high-faluting theological notions. 

“This has been a hard summer for me, bereft as I am, 
not only of you and my precious Ruby, but of my Queen 
of Hearts, Cecelia Miller, who, after all the pains I’ve taken 
with her, has the poor taste to prefer a musical course at 
Boston Conservatory to the devotion of her jo John. How- 
ever, I’ve still on hand enough love to stock a matrimonial 
agency; and, as it is against every tenet of frugality that 
so much good affection should be wasted, I’ll transfer what 
is left of my battered but still serviceable heart to you, if 
you will deign to accept the gift. The only bright spot in 
my horizon just now is the thought that you will soon be 
in our midst again. Until that glad day, farewell. 

“Faithfully yours, John Henson.” 


222 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

WEDDING BELLS. 

Four of the Willow Brook family were at the station 
to meet Katharine Marshall when she returned, the last 
Saturday of August; and soon she and Cissy and Molly 
in the surrey, and Alec and Bobby in the spring wagon, in 
charge of the luggage, were homeward bound. Notwith- 
standing the glad welcome of the children, Kate’s heart, as 
she drove along, was heavy with sadness as she contrasted 
this drive with her first one over this same road, one year 
before. 

As the cavalcade neared the schoolhouse, Susan and 
Margaret sprang out from behind the alder bushes by the 
roadside, clambered into the surrey, and rapturously kissed 
their beloved Miss Kate. When they drew up at the stile- 
block, the clamor of Doc and Toby brought out Mrs. 
Bright, who, tying on the inevitable white apron, hurried 
down the yard to meet the teacher. The rock walk had 
been weeded, the front porch newly scoured, and the whole 
house swept and garnished in honor of Miss Marshall’s 
return. The dogs frisked joyously about her ; even Ichabod, 
the disdainful, permitted her to stroke him, and Brindle 
came purring and rubbing against the girl, to attest satis- 
faction over her return. 

Kate soon made her way to the kitchen, where Aunt 
Cassie and Ivory were busy with supper preparations. 

“I declar 1 , Miss Kate, de sight ob you is good fuh sore 
eyes,” exclaimed Aunt Cassie, wiping her floury hands upon 
her apron. “But you looks kindah pale an’ peeky, honey,” 
she added solicitously as she shook hands with the girl. “I 
reckon de city airs doan agree very well wid yo’ constibu- 


WEDDING BELLS 


223 


tion; but now you’s back heah wid us, well soon hab you 
lookin’ fat an’ sassy ag’in.” 

“dt s a Gawd’s marcy you’s heah once more, Miss Kate,” 
said Uncle Charley, bowing and scraping in the doorway, 
“to take some ob de ’sponsibility ob dis heah fambly offen 
my ole shouldahs. De chillun hez been dat rampagious all 
summah dat dah hain’t been no peace fuh nobody. I’s most 
worritted intah my grave, tryin’ to keep down dem baw- 
dacious youngsters, Alec an’ Polly an’ Susie. Dey’s full 
o’ tricks ez yearlin’ colts.” 

On Monday Kate set to work with renewed vigor, 
resolving to put aside vain regrets, and to find in school 
interests a panacea for heartache. 

Besides her schoolroom duties she found other matters 
demanding her attention, as the interest of the whole com- 
munity was for the present centered in the triple wedding 
for September the fifteenth. The school was to have a half 
holiday on the fifteenth, for not only did every man, woman 
and child within a circumference of four miles of the vil- 
lage purpose to attend the wedding, but Miss Marshall was 
to play an important part in the function — John Henson 
and herself, Shelburn Broadus and Diana Henson, Ralph 
Moreland and Ruth Vanarsdale having been selected as 
attendants to the prospective brides and bridegrooms. 

The only one who did not appear satisfied with this 
arrangement was Julia Fowler. She was indignant that 
Sadie Jean, who had delayed her return to boarding-school 
until after the fifteenth, was not included in the list of 
bridesmaids. Standing in the churchyard, within hearing 
of Mrs. Slocum and Mrs. Mason, one Sunday after service, 
Mrs. Fowler thus spake her mind to Mrs. Foster: “I don’t 
see why there should be all this fuss an’ folderol about them 
gals gittin’ married. To my mind, it’d be more fittin’ to 
hev a quiet home weddin’, instid of our church bein’ used, 


224 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


seein' as all but one of the intendeds is Baptists. As for 
Daut not bein’ bridesmaid, I told her flat-footed that she 
shouldn’t demean herself by mixin’ up in the affair — no, 
not if Pearl an’ Nell Slocum an’ Dell Mason went down on 
bended knee to ask her to. An’ the dear knows, Daut’s as 
purty as that brown-skinned Di Henson ever dared be, an’ a 
heap more so than Ruth Vanarsdale or that other stuck-up 
little schoolmarm. In my young days schoolteachers wuzn’t 
considered fust cut, but now, it seems, they hold their heads 
as high as anybody.” 

A day or two after this a joint letter from the pros- 
pective brides, inviting Sadie Jean to play the “Wedding 
March,” wrought a change in her mother’s views. 

“Play for ’em! Of course Daut’ll play, or do anything 
else to pleasure the sweet girls,” said the good woman, 
fairly glowdng with benevolence. “And I promise you she’ll 
render up them marches in a style that’ll knock the socks 
offen anything ever hearn in this town. Ruby Stump 
qouldn’t hold a candle to Daut when it comes to per- 
formin’.” 

From that time Mrs. Fowler constituted herself mistress 
of ceremonies and chairwoman of the committee on decora- 
tions. Judging by her proceedings during the next few 
days, one could not help being convinced that she regarded 
the other bridal arrangements as a mere background, and 
prospective brides and grooms, attendants and minister as 
but trifling adjuncts to the scene of which the chief feature 
w'as to be the display of Miss Fowler’s musical talents. 

The wedding was to be on Wednesday afternoon, and 
early Monday morning Mrs. Fowler began preparations; 
and there followed such an upheaval of the established 
order of things in Ginseng Christian Church as made the 
more conservative members hold up their hands in con- 
sternation. Old Sister Clark declared that “she didn’t know 


WEDDING BELLS 


225 


whut perfessed Christians wuz a-comin’ to, allowin’ the 
meetin’-house to be turned hindside foremost in that 
ungodly way.” “Hindside foremost” the building was cer- 
tainly turned for the great event — at least, as regards the 
furniture. 

“ ’Twon’t never do fur the benches to set as they do 
now, facin’ them front doors; fur, even if Daut wuz to play 
as fast as a race-horse can trot, she couldn’t git in more’n 
half of Mendonson’s ‘Bridal March’ as the percession comes 
in, or more’n half of Longrin’s ‘Weddin’ Chorus’ as they go 
out, if the bridal party stood thar at the foot of the pulpit 
platform,” was Madame Fowler’s dictum. 

Accordingly, she set men to work to build a big plat- 
form in the rear end of the building, and to turn the 
benches around to face it; and, as the floor sloped upward 
from front to rear, the benches when turned had each to 
be elevated with a block under the back to make the seat 
level. “Them that don’t like what is done, is free not to 
like it,” declared Mrs. Julia, when these arrangements had 
been completed. 

Some of the church officers regarded this bouleverse- 
ment as a serious- matter, but at the same time they felt it 
would be a still more serious matter to interfere with Sister 
Fowler. Deacons Foster and Bright, however, did venture 
to hint to Mr. Fowler that perhaps his wife was taking 
rather too much upon herself ; but Jim Dick, whatever his 
subjection to his energetic better half, was not, as he said, 
“a-goin’ to be dictatered to by Jake Foster an’ Milt Bright;” 
and, drawing his five feet five of slim manliness up to its 
full height, and bringing to bear upon his two brethren the 
force of his fierce eyebrows and ponderous voice, he inti- 
mated pretty plainly that Mrs. Fowler knew what she was 
about, and had best be allowed full sway. 

The platform built, benches turned and propped, Mrs. 


226 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


Fowler next directed her energies toward decorations. 
Nearly every dwelling in Ginseng was made to pay tribute 
in the way of furniture or flowers or bric-a-brac. 

Peter Henson, seeing chairs, tables, curtains, rugs and 
ornaments being taken to the church, gravely remarked that 
it was a pity Tom Slocum had rented Pleasant View for 
his future residence; “for,” said he, “if they’d only add a 
kitchen range, a few dishes and a bed to the stage appoint- 
ments, Tom and Della could go to housekeeping on that 
platform.” 

The floor of the platform was covered with rugs; mar- 
ble-topped tables occupied the extreme right and left ; 
upholstered arm-chairs were grouped around in an artistic 
manner; and Mrs. Lane’s fine leather couch was placed, as 
Mrs. Fowler expressed it, “diadlin” (diagonally) “across 
one side to give a toney effect.” 

It must not be supposed that this stage was intended for 
the bridal party. On the contrary, that was to arrange itself 
in a meek and lowly semicircle at the foot of the platform, 
which was fitted up solely for Miss Fowler and her piano. 
Jardinieres, embroidered throws, etc., were arranged artis- 
tically about; vines, palms and potted plants were placed 
everywhere on and around the stage, save in the center, 
where was left a vacant space to afford the audience an 
uninterrupted vista of Miss Sadie Jean at the piano. As 
a crowning effect to this decorative achievement a life-sized 
portrait of Alexander Campbell was brought from Sister 
Fowler’s parlor, and hung in a prominent position on the 
stage. “For,” she declared, “we want everybody to know 
that this is a Christian church, if this weddin’ is mostly a 
Baptist affair. Whut’s more, I hope that pictur of Brother 
Alexander Campbell will be the fust thing Preacher Eaton” 
(Reverend Dr. Eaton, who was to perform the marriage 
ceremony) “will set eyes on when he comes in this house.” 


WEDDING BELLS 


227 


No one viewed these innovations with more disfavor 
than did Miranda Hogg; and, indeed, they came near 
wrecking the lifelong friendship between her and Julia 
Fowler. On Wednesday morning a band of workers under 
Mrs. Fowler’s supervision was putting the finishing touches 
to the decorations, when Miss Hogg entered. 

“Up-pon my word! I nevah seen sich carryin’s-on !” 
she ejaculated, as she stood in one of the aisles, scornful 
disapprobation expressed in every line of her figure. 

,“Sh — ! Sh — !” cautioned some of the decorators. “Mrs. 
Fowler’s behind that screen — she’ll hear you.” 

“Heah me! Whut if she does? Who keers fuh Jule 
Fowler, I’d like to know ?” 

Out stepped Mrs. Julia from her screen of palms — eyes 
blazing, arms akimbo — and faced the indignant spinster. 
“Them that don’t like these doin’s, Randy Hogg, kin lump 
’em. I’m runnin’ this thing.” 

“ ’Pears to me like you’d got the devil to holp you, then,” 
snorted Miss Hogg. “I nevah in my borned days hear tell 
o’ sich ongodly doin’s. It’s wussen the money-changers in 
the temple — a stage right heah in the meetin’-house, an’ all 
them flowers an’ fool gimcracks strowed ’round, till the 
place looks like a cross between a theater an’ the floral hall 
at Durritt Fair. Whut’s this chu’ch a-comin’ to, anyway — 
a worldly minded preachah, gallivantin’ off to the dear only 
knows whar, an’ everything in the chu’ch at loose ends, and 
every membah, most, gittin’ ez worldly as the preachah?” 

“As I said before, I’m runnin’ this business, an’ I’ll 
stand no meddlin’ frum no one. I know whut’s whut when 
it comes to style,” said Mrs. Fowler. 

“Style, indeed !” sneered Miss Hogg. “I’ll tell you one 
thing — ef them gimcracks an’ all thet trash hain’t carted off, 
thet stage tore down, them benches turned ’round, and the 
whole place cleaned up befoh prayer-meetin’ to-night, I’ll 


228 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


nevah set foot in this chu’ch agin — my sakes alive !” she 
broke off to ejaculate in a tone of horrified amazement, “if 
thet hain’t Alexander Campbell’s pictur a-hangin’ up thah ! ! 
It’s a wondah it don’t make him raise up in his grave to see 
a Christian chu’ch, the chu’ch thet he foundered by his zeal 
and godly labors, dissercrated ; an’ his own pictur actually 
hung thah in the midst ! The idee uv sich imperdence !” 

“Impudence!” exclaimed Mrs. Fowler; “don’t you dare 
call nothin’ I do impudence!” advancing upon Miss Hogg, 
who manfully stood her ground. 

A downright hand-to-hand combat now seemed immi- 
nent, and the girls who were assisting in the decorations 
were almost paralyzed. 

“Moly Hoses!” faintly ejaculated John Henson with 
well-simulated fright, “they’ll be at each other tooth and 
nail, directly. Non-combatants to the rear! Let us save 
the women and children !” 

“Oh, please, please do something to stop this disgraceful 
scene,” pleaded Diana, wringing her hands, and looking 
imploringly, not at her affianced, Shelburn Broadus, who 
stood in helpless amazement, watching the bellicose dames, 
but at Ralph Moreland — forgetting that she had not spoken 
to him for months. 

Dr. Moreland came forward, and, laying a gentle hand 
on the irate Miranda’s shoulder, said persuasively: “My 
dear Miss Miranda, you can speak your mind to Mrs. Fow- 
ler later on and in some other place — not here, please. It 
is too late now to make any changes in the arrangements 
for the wedding ; but I pledge you my word that everything 
shall be put in good order before next Sunday, if not in 
time for prayer-meeting to-night. So, like the sensible, kind 
soul that you are, go quietly home now. Do so to oblige 
me, won’t you ?” With this he, still politely but firmly hold- 
ing her arm, conducted her to the door. 


WEDDING BELLS 


229 


Matters soon quieted down, and by noon the decorations 
were completed, and the workers went home to eat a hasty 
lunch, and to array themselves for the function at three 
o’clock. 

The entire marriage program was beautifully carried 
out. Miss Fowler not only played the “Wedding March” 
in excellent style, but she likewise gave a musical recital 
of half an hour’s length before the arrival of the bridal 
party. 

It was a beautiful wedding. Susan Bright asserted that 
when she got married, she meant to have one just like it; 
and the favorite amusement of the schoolchildren for the 
next month was to enact the wonderful triple wedding. 


230 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

THE VALLEY OF HUMILIATION. 

We fall to rise; are baffled to fight better. — Browning. 

After that Monday morning interview with Peter Hen- 
son, Philip Bryce felt more than ever out of harmony with 
his surroundings. His work at Ginseng had become an 
intolerable grind — serving no good purpose, either, he 
thought wearily, if, as Henson had told him, his whole 
system of religious teaching was at best but a garbled mix- 
ture of sentiment and speculation, having no power to lift 
the soul in need. He wanted to get away to some remote 
spot where, with no demands on his time or sympathies, he 
could break through the mists of doubt and misgiving 
which were beginning to obscure his mental outlook ; and 
where, apart from every association that reminded him of 
the girl he loved, he could strive to forget her — or, failing 
that, where at least there would be no need to mask his 
wretchedness. 

His bodily health, too, was beginning to feel the strain 
of overwork and sleepless nights. One excessively hot 
Sunday afternoon in early July he walked two miles into 
the country to call upon a poor man who was very ill. The 
walk through the dust and heat tired him ; the squalid sur- 
roundings of the poor man’s home oppressed him, and the 
close, fever-tainted air of the invalid’s room sickened him. 
On the return walk after his hour’s visit, he was caught in 
a sudden rain-storm. When he reached Elmarch he had 
barely time to exchange his wet clothes for dry ones before 
evening church. By the time the service was concluded he 
was exceedingly nervous and depressed, and felt a severe 
attack of neuralgic headache coming on. 


THE VALLEY OF HUMILIATION 


231 


He and Moreland walked home from church together. 
Here an urgent summons to hasten to the bedside of a very 
sick patient awaited the doctor, but before setting forth on 
this mission he gave Philip a small box of tablets with 
directions to take one at once, and to repeat the dose in one 
hour, if necessary. Moreland, as he was hurrying off, told 
Bryce that this medicine was only for temporary relief, and 
that he would in the morning write out a prescription which 
would be of more permanent benefit. 

When Philip retired to his room, and was about to take 
one of the tablets, the thought occurred to him that it might 
contain morphine. On account of the appetite contracted 
during his long spell of fever in Australia, six years before, 
he dared not, even now, tamper with the. narcotic. He, 
therefore, thrust the little box into his vest pocket, resolving 
to battle through a sleepless night of suffering rather than 
to resort to the dangerous drug. 

Upon being questioned next morning, Moreland acknowl- 
edged that the tablets did contain a portion of morphine, 
but he gave it as his opinion that, considering the length of 
time that had elapsed since Philip had been addicted to the 
morphine habit, there’ would have been no danger in his 
now resorting to the drug to relieve pain. 

Soon after this episode the brotherly affection Bryce 
had long had for Moreland began to be disturbed by a 
feeling of mistrust. One day Philip, going into Ralph’s 
room for a book while the latter was not at home, saw on 
the table a letter directed to Katharine Marshall in the 
doctor’s handwriting. A few afternoons later Bryce was 
lying in the hammock on the veranda when the negro boy, 
Sam, came from Ginseng with the mail, which he handed 
Philip. Among the half-dozen letters handed him was one 
postmarked Covington, and directed to Ralph Moreland, 
in Kate’s well-known writing. 


232 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


“So, they correspond,” was Bryce's grim thought ; “and 
Moreland, thrown over by Diana Henson, consoles himself 
with Katharine Marshall. Of course he has a perfect right 
to do so, if he — no, he hasn’t, either; or, at any rate, know- 
ing as he does that I love her, he should have given me 
some hint as to how matters stood between him and her. 
Why, this may be the cause of his rupture with Diana, since 
there’s no telling how long this affair with Kate may have 
been in progress.” 

Shortly after this, Philip started on his vacation, which 
had been postponed from the middle of July to the first 
of August. He had arranged to join two of his former 
college mates for a fortnight camping expedition. These 
two young men had already started — the one from South 
Carolina, the other from Pennsylvania — for the appointed 
rendezvous, Colorado Springs. When Bryce reached that 
place he found the two men awaiting him, and the next 
day the three set forth with their camping outfit for an 
elevated region about ten miles from the Springs. 

Congenial companionship, the free, open-air life and the 
invigorating mountain environment so pleased the men that 
the fortnight was extended to over three weeks ; and it was 
with much regret that at the end of that time they broke 
camp, and bade one another adieu — the others returning to 
their homes, and Bryce to the Springs to spend a short 
while there before starting on a two weeks’ wandering amid 
places of interest in New Mexico. 

Awaiting him at his hotel in Colorado Springs were two 
letters postmarked at Ginseng nearly two weeks earlier. 
One was from Tom Slocum, announcing the three mar- 
riages for September fifteenth, and asking Bryce if he 
could be home by that time, as the prospective brides were 
desirous that Philip should assist in tying the three nuptial 
knots. In a postscript Tom wrote, “Of course you are 


THE VALLEY OF HUMILIATION 


233 


informed of that Covington marriage next week” (the 
third week of August) “in which the doctor and Miss 
Marshall are to officiate.” 

Greatly disturbed by what he had read in Tom’s post- 
script, he tore open the other letter, which was from John 
Henson, written in his customary racy style, and contain- 
ing in substance the same items of information he had 
written to Kate Marshall. In this letter to Philip, John 
likewise referred to another engagement, “which,” he 
wrote, “is not at all to my notion, as I had hoped, as I 
dare say you had, that the dear, deluded girl would have 
made another choice. But there’s no dependence to be 
placed in girls, is there?” John referred to the engage- 
ment of his sister to Shelburn Broadus, but Philip, reading 
this letter immediately after Tom’s startling postscript, nat- 
urally concluded that John meant an engagement between 
Ralph Moreland and Kate Marshall, although even yet he 
did not believe it to be true. “There must be some mis- 
take,” he thought. “Even though Kate never loved me, I 
can not believe that Ralph, in spite of those letters that 
I know passed between them earlier in the summer, would 
treat me thus — live in close intimacy with me from day to 
day while all this was pending, and give me no intimation 
of it.” 

Thus thinking, he mechanically tore off the wrapper of 
a newspaper that had been handed him with the two let- 
ters. It was a copy' of the Cincinnati Enquirer of August 
twentieth. Idly wondering who could have sent him the 
paper, he glanced carelessly through its columns until his 
attention was riveted and his whole being shocked by an 
item on the third page, announcing the marriage, August 
nineteenth, at the First Christian Church of Covington, of 
Dr. R. D. Moreland, of Filson County, to Miss Catherine 
Marshall, of Covington. 


234 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


Soon after reaching his hotel that afternoon, and before 
going to his room to read his letters, he had arranged to 
ascend Pike’s Peak next day in company of a party of 
tourists stopping at the same hotel as himself. He arose 
next morning after a night of sleepless, despairing misery, 
in no mood for the jaunt. Afterwards, however, he decided 
to go, hoping thus to escape for a few hours from his 
great unhappiness. BuHthe long and exciting expedition 
(under any circumstances a fatiguing one) was to poor, 
unhappy Philip like a horrible nightmare. He came back 
to the hotel at nightfall utterly spent and hopeless, and 
with a blinding attack of neuralgia. He went directly to 
his room, hoping to be able to sleep. He could not; and 
by nine o’clock the pain in his head was so intense as for 
the time to banish consciousness of anything except phy- 
sical agony, from which he felt that if he could not get 
relief soon, he should either go mad or die. 

Desperate as he w^s with pain, he would have resorted 
to any drug to banish the demon which was racking .every 
nerve, piercing his temples with red-hot needles, filling his 
veins with fire, and even clutching at his very heartstrings. 
He was about to ring his bell to summon a servant to go 
for a physician, when he recollected the tablets Moreland 
had once given him, and which, only a day or so ago, he 
had found in the vest pocket of the suit he had worn that 
Sunday night in July. He had not worn the vest since, but 
he had it with him. It was hanging in the closet of his 
room here at the hotel. Reassuring himself by recalling 
what Moreland had said as to there now being no danger 
of a return of his old, diseased appetite for morphine, and 
also by the statement that the tablets contained but a small 
proportion of that narcotic, he took one of them. It had 
no perceptible eflfect, and after another half-hour of acute 
suffering he took two more. 


THE VALLEY OF HUMILIATION 


235 


In a short while pain was vanquished ; but, instead of 
causing drowsiness, the drug aroused, stimulated him to an 
unnatural degree. Bodily suffering, heartache, sorrow, no 
longer held sway ; instead, weird fancies, beautiful, fan- 
tastic thoughts, trooped through his brain. 

Presently this mood gave >vay to a more restless one. 
The quiet of his room grew oppressive, and a desire for 
excitement dominated him. 

Why, he asked himself, was he pacing this dull, stuffy 
little room, when there was so much to be experienced in 
this lively Western city? He would go out sightseeing and 
adventure-hunting. But first there was a hateful task to 
perform. “What was it?” his bewildered brain questioned. 
Ah ! it was to write to his false sweetheart and his still 
falser friend, to denounce their perfidy. 

He sat down at the table, and drew writing materials 
toward him ; but there were such ringing, clamorous noises 
in his head that his thoughts were chaotic. He threw down 
his pen, and clutched his throbbing temples. To whom had 
he intended writing? he wondered. Ah, yes! to a man 
called Moreland and a girl called Kate — or wasn’t her 
name Martha? How was it? She had told him her name 
was Kate, but she was false in this as in everything else, 
for her real name was Martha — Martha O’Mallory. And 
this Moreland, who was he? A charlatan, a quack doctor, 
and a thief, who, while he himself was dawdling here in 
this room, would escape. Instead of wasting time writing 
this thief, he should be hunted down, and made to restore 
the stolen property. Why, he was here — this Moreland — 
here in this very town, hiding somewhere — he and his 
bride, the perjured girl he had stolen. “I’ll find him !” 
exclaimed the delirious Philip. “I’ll drag him from her 
clinging arms, and chastise him before her eyes.” 

His brain throbbed madly. His veins pulsed with fiery 


236 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


heat. A frenzy of rage possessed him. He was trembling 
violently. To steady himself he took another tablet. Then, 
quickly donning outdoor garments, and snatching up his 
hat, he hastened out through the quiet, dimly lit upper 
corridors of the building, and descended to the first floor. 
When he reached the brilliantly lighted office or lobby, 
where a score or more of casual guests still lingered, talk- 
ing, reading, smoking, card-playing, the aromatic fumes 
from the bottles of wine and whisky behind the bar aroused 
him to a still fiercer desire for stimulants. He was in an 
insane condition, but the strangers around him, engrossed 
in their own pursuits, noted nothing unusual in his appear- 
ance or bearing. He passed unchallenged through the 
room to the bar ; called for whisky, and took a drink which, 
had he been in a normal condition, would have over- 
powered him, but which, in his present delirious state, only 
acted as an incentive to greater activity. 

Hours afterward he found himself lying across his bed. 
Too weak and depressed to lift his head, he again closed 
his eyes and lay motionless, until the fog that clouded his 
brain lifted somewhat, and he had a dim sense of his sur- 
roundings. The sunlight streaming into the room through 
the wide-opened windows; the clang and whir of electric 
cars, and the cry of venders calling their wares in the street 
below ; the occasional tinkle of a bell somewhere in the 
hotel; and the murmur of voices, and the sound of foot- 
steps passing to and fro in the hall outside his door, indi- 
cated that the morning was well advanced. 

Presently memory resumed her sway, and with a painful 
recoil he recollected yielding to his old enemy, the appetite 
for morphine; but when he tried to recall the subsequent 
events of the night he was still bewildered. A vague, tor- 
menting impression of strange, repulsive scenes again and 
again troubled him ; but the impression was so horrible and 


THE VALLEY OF HUMILIATION 


237 


so foreign to his accustomed modes of thought that he 
tried to put it aside as but the phantom of his own sick 
fancy. 

When overpowered by physical suffering the night 
before, he had taken those tablets, and had then thrown 
himself here across the bed, and had slept until now. 
Hence, he reassured himself, those odious fancies about 
his having left the hotel, of his going into a gambling- 
den, and there engaging in a drunken riot, were only a 
nightmare caused by the powerful drug he had taken. 

He looked at his watch. It pointed to ten o’clock. He 
got up, and, clinging for support to chairs and center-table, 
he crossed the room to the dressing-table, and gazed with 
horror at the image the mirror reflected — a face with blood- 
shot eyes, pallid, dirt-besmirched skin, parched and black- 
ened lips, a discolored, swollen bruise on the left temple 
and a slight cut just above it and half hidden by the matted 
hair. He examined his clothing. The coat was creased and 
torn, and there were blood stains on its cuffs, and another 
on the bosom of his shirt. 

In a passion of horror and self-loathing, he realized 
that that which he had thought but the disordered imagin- 
ing of a delirious brain was grim, ghastly reality. He, a 
minister of the gospel, he whose life until now had been 
blameless, had fallen so low as this. 

He went back to his bed — too horror-stricken to think 
or act. But after a time he rose and made as careful a 
toilet as he could in his trembling, sick condition. He had 
eaten nothing since the noontide luncheon on the mountain- 
side, the day before ; and he now ordered the Chinese serv- 
ant, who answered his bell, to bring him breakfast. After 
eating what was served him, he left the hotel for a walk, 
but before long he felt too ill to continue the exercise, and 
returned to his room. He again craved stimulants, and the 


238 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


sight of the box of tablets on the dressing-table aroused 
within him a raging desire which shook, tortured, mastered 
him. For the time self-control was gone; all power of 
resistance, paralyzed; and the devil’s own emissary, the old 
appetite, held him in its clutches. 

There followed for Philip Bryce, alone in that Western 
city, a six days’ struggle which shook him like a tempest, 
shattered his self-confidence, humbled him to the dust ; but 
which in his final victory steadied his will, clarified his spir- 
itual vision, and strengthened his soul forever afterward. 

During those six days there were intervals of compara- 
tive calm, when sensation seemed deadened and all appetite 
quenched. Then the merciless grip of a diseased craving 
would again seize him. The contents of the box. were soon 
exhausted. He then bribed the Chinaman who attended to 
his room to fetch him opium and whisky. 

There were other hours of that terrible week in which 
his will again asserted itself, and he would lie stretched on 
his bed, his teeth set, his hands clenched, until he thought 
he had vanquished the enemy for good and all ; but, instead 
of its being defeated, it had only recoiled that it might 
return with renewed force. 

In the daytime he was better able to cope with tempta- 
tion. Sometimes he would descend from his room, and 
going out of the building by a side entrance, in order that 
he might escape the temptation which the sight of the daz- 
zling array of liquors at the office bar was to him, he would 
seek the streets and wander about, hoping thus to find dis- 
traction from both desire and remorse. In this Western 
health resort his pallid, weak appearance caused no sur- 
prise. To those who saw him feebly promenading the 
streets he seemed only one of the many sick men who come 
to this place in search of health. But at night, alone in his 
room, there would again be the devil’s clutch on his quiver- 


THE VALLEY OF HUMILIATION 


239 


ing nerves, and the devil’s own imps whispering to and 
tempting him. 

In his freer, saner moments he felt that he needed the 
help of some one to lift him over this terrible crisis, but 
pride revolted at the thought of calling in a physician, since 
that would entail a confession of his weakness and degrada- 
tion. Rather than that, he always concluded, he would 
struggle on alone. 


240 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

THE MOUNT OF VISION. 

. . . climb the Mount of Blessing, whence, if thou 
Look higher, then — perchance— thou mayest — beyond 
A hundred ever-rising mountain lines, 

And past the range of Nig t and Shadow — see 
The high-heaven dawn of more than mortal day 
Strike on the Mount of Vision. 

— Tennyson , “ Ancient Sage." 

Upon the morning of the seventh day Philip awoke, 
limp in body, sick of heart, but fully realizing that, if he 
would recover his manhood, he must get away at once to 
some spot where it would be impossible for him to procure 
the drug which was ruining him. 

He thought of the camping expedition of the week 
before, and resolved to return to the spot, and alone. He 
wanted no comrades, no witnesses of his pitiable condition 
and his struggles for self-mastery. His resolve, once taken, 
was promptly executed. It took but a few hours to get 
together the meager outfit. A surefooted little mountain 
burro was hired and laden with blankets, provisions, cook- 
ing utensils, a change of raiment, his neglected Bible, and 
a few magazines ; and early that afternoon he started, and 
soon after sunset he had reached his camping-ground. 

In the bracing air and the matchless beauty and gran- 
deur of the mountains he spent two weeks with the faithful 
burro, the birds, and the few wild but harmless animals of 
the region, as his only companions. Here, where no echo 
of human help or sympathy could reach him, there came to 
him the sense of Divine Presence, Divine Strength : and the 
whole world was transfigured, and he, like all others who 


THE MOUNT OF VISION 


241 


have even faintly and from afar once heard that Voice, and 
caught a glimpse of that majestic Personality, could now 
understand the force of Mrs. Browning’s beautiful lines: 

“ Earth’s crammed with heaven, 

And every common bush afire with God.” 

But this period of exaltation did not come at once. It 
was preceded by one of deepest humiliation. As his phy- 
sical strength returned, the feverish, half-delirious cravings 
of a diseased appetite left him, and in their stead came 
bitter remorse and self-loathing — not only because of his 
having the week before, when under the stress of great 
bodily pain and mental anguish, given himself over to the 
debasing influence of a baneful narcotic; but also because 
his awakened conscience now showed him that with a heart 
• unconsecrated by faith and deep-seated conviction of duty 
he had dared to enter the ministry. 

In this gloomy interval, alone in the solitude of the 
mountains, he learned, too, that the speculative vagaries of 
the “New Theology” and the vaunted learning of those 
who, led away by the ignis fatuus of so-called “higher Bib- 
lical scholarship,” deem chemselves “wise above what is 
written,” are utterly powerless before the deeper needs of 
the human heart. Then it was that, as dear old Peter Hen- 
son had foretold, Philip began to spell out the meaning of 
redemptive suffering. Prostrate before that Saviour whose 
sacrificial love he had until now so poorly comprehended, 
the young man cried aloud, “Lord, I believe ; help thou my 
unbelief,” until here, at the foot of the cross, the faith of 
his childhood, which he had allowed to become overlaid 
with foreign growths, reasserted itself, crushing out every 
ism, every doubt, and accepting only that divine, all-com- 
prehensive assurance, “He died that we might live.” Then 
his awakened soul, looking “past the range of Night and 
Shadow,” saw “the dawn of more than mortal day strike 


242 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRAL/A 


on the Mount of Vision,” and his whole being was suffused 
with ineffable peace and trust in the infinite, eternal love 
of God. 

As Philip Bryce hour after hour, by the light that was 
now given him, reverently studied his Bible, he found its 
seeming contradictions to be gems of agreement, and those 
parts hitherto regarded by him as discrepancies to be but 
different aspects of the same essential unity of truth. He 
saw, too, that Paul’s main doctrine — vicarious atonement 
for sin; James’ central thought — the necessity of human 
effort, work and service ; Peter’s dominating themes — grace 
and spiritual sustenance ; John’s principal teachings — obe- 
dience and lovingkindness, instead of being contradictory 
dogmas, were but variants of the sarne divine truth ; or but 
different arcs of the one great circle whose center is God 
himself, and whose circumference is his redemptive plan of 
salvation. 

To Philip Bryce that wooded Colorado height ever 
afterward seemed a veritable Mount of Blessing, upon 
which had been fought and won the supreme battle of 
his life. 

On the fifteenth day he returned to the Springs to 
gather up his belongings, preparatory to setting forth for 
Kentucky. Among the letters awaiting him at the hotel 
was one which, with a shock of surprise, he saw was from 
Ralph Moreland. The sharp pangs of disillusionment, use- 
less longing and hopeless love, which during his mountain 
vigil had been to an extent dulled by the shock of other 
experiences,- came back to him in full poignancy at sight of 
that letter. After regarding it a moment in indignant sur- 
prise, he opened it. Its contents made his heart leap for 
joy over the discovery that the friend for whom he had felt 
a brother’s love was still worthy of all trust. 

The letter showed that the wedding to which Tom 


THE MOUNT OF VISION 


24a 


Slocum had referred, and which the Cincinnati newspaper 
announced, was that of a Dr. R. D. (Richard Dana) More- 
land, a cousin of our R. D. (Ralph Dwight) Moreland, to 
Miss Catherine Marshall, a relative of the Katharine Mar- 
shall whom Philip Bryce still loved. 

The newspaper had made a mistake in giving Filson 
County instead of Kenton County as the home of the bride- 
groom. Furthermore, Bryce, after reading that communi- 
cation from the doctor, was confident that the letters which 
had passed between Ralph and Katharine during the sum- 
mer had had reference solely to this marriage, in which 
Ralph as “best man,” and Kate as maid of honor, had 
officiated. 

Moreland wrote that he had accompanied Dr. and Mrs. 
Richard Dana Moreland on their bridal tour through the 
Eastern States and Canada; and that it was not until after 
his return from this extended trip that he had found leisure 
to write his friend. 

Bryce returned to Ginseng the last week of September, 
after an absence of nearly eight weeks. The day after his 
return he sought an interview with Peter Henson, to whom 
he made full confession of the evil which had overtaken 
him in that terrible week in the Colorado hotel, of his bitter 
shame and remorse, of his struggles for self-mastery, of 
his spiritual awakening, and of his return to the faith of 
his childhood. He likewise related the circumstances that 
had influenced him six years before to rashly pledge him- 
self to the ministry, when neither his mind nor his heart 
were prepared to enter the sacred vocation. He then ten- 
dered his resignation of the work at Ginseng. But Mr. 
Henson, who had listened with tenderest sympathy to the 
young man’s confession, urged him to remain at his post, 
and gave it as his firm conviction that the experiences 
through which Philip had recently passed were just what 


244 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


had been needed to make him worthy of the work he had 
undertaken. 

Strengthened and cheered by the sympathy and the lov- 
ing admonitions of this wise counselor, and by his assurance 
that the church at Ginseng needed his services, Bryce con- 
sented to remain, although had he consulted his own wishes 
he would have sought some other locality where he would 
not be so constantly reminded of the girl he hopelessly 
loved. 

The reaction which inevitably follows such moments 
of exaltation as Philip Bryce experienced, when on the 
mountain-top he had held communion with the Unseen 
Presence, came to him after he had settled down to his 
winter’s work, and there were many hours in which he felt 
depressed and saddened; but although the glory of the 
spiritual did in a measure pass, it left the young man with 
that enlightenment of understanding, that enlargement of 
soul, and that quickening of sympathies, which find their 
best expression in active service for the good of others. 
His daily prayer was not now, “Lord, what must I do to 
be saved?” but that nobler petition, “Lord, what wilt thou 
that I do in order that I may bring other souls to a knowl- 
edge of thy boundless love?” 


AUNT CASS/E AND “ DE RABBIT FOOT " 245 


CHAPTER XXIX . 

AUNT CASSIE AND “DE RABBIT FOOT. ,, 

The quiet monotony of Katharine Marshall’s second fall 
and winter in Ginseng was in marked contrast to the bright 
variety of her first. She as well as Philip Bryce battled 
bravely against heartache and vain regrets, and tried to for- 
get the past by concentrating every thought on duty ; but 
she, no less than he, often regretted not having sought some 
other field of work. Indeed, in one respect her situation 
was sadder than his. He had the daily companionship and 
hearty, if unspoken, sympathy of his congenial friend, 
Ralph Moreland ; but with Kate it was as she had predicted 
when she first heard of Diana Henson’s engagement to 
Shelburn Broadus. Although still loving each other ten- 
derly, the two girls did not seek one another as frequently 
as formerly, and when they did meet, there was always a 
feeling of constraint between them. 

Philip and Kate, of course, avoided each other when- 
ever it could be done without exciting comment. His calls 
at Willow Brook were brief, infrequent, and of a strictly 
professional nature. The cause of this change on the part 
of their beloved young minister was perfectly understood 
by kindly Milton Bright and easy-going but astute Nancy 
Bright; and she, loving Kate and Philip, often wished it in 
her power to set matters straight between them, but, like 
the true gentlewoman she was, she said or did nothing to 
force the girl’s confidence. 

Cissy Bright was as reticent as her parents, but the 
younger children often bewailed that “Brother Bryce” did 
not come to see them as he once did. 

“Polly tole Mamie Bates that you an’ Buvvah Bwyce 


24G 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


was goin’ to get married, some day, Miss Kate,” said little 
Puggie one day ; “but he don’t love you an’ me any more, I 
reckon, for he don’t nevvah come to see us or take us 
a-widen’ like he used to; an’ Susie she says she’s goin’ to 
marry him herse’f when she gets big. She asked him, one 
day last summah, an’ he promised to wait for her till she 
is old ’nough to git married.” 

In December the five youngest members of the house- 
hold at Willow Brook were down with the measles, and 
Kate Marshall at the same time was confined to her bed 
with a severe attack of tonsilitis. Mrs. Bright’s and Cissy’s 
time and attention were demanded by the downstairs 
patients ; and the care of Katharine devolved for the most 
part upon Aunt Cassie, who during the day spent as much 
time as she could spare from her culinary duties with the 
sick girl, and slept at night on a pallet in Kate’s room. 
Aunt Cassie, besides being a gentle, careful nurse, was 
possessed of a fund of anecdote and quaint superstition 
which furnished her patient with amusement. 

She held the medical profession in no great esteem, and 
though she liked Ralph Moreland, she thought little of him 
as a physician. “I tell you whut, honey,” she said to Kate 
one morning as she was giving the girl her medicine, “you 
doan ’pear to git bettah fast ’nough to suit my notions. 
Yo’ froat’s ez raid an’ swelled ez it wuz a week ago. I 
reckon Doctah Moahlan’s ez good at docturin’ ez they mek 
’em now-days, but I doan pin my faith to none o’ dem pur- 
feshinal fo’ks. De ole-time rem’dies is bettah dan all dese 
heah froat washes an’ cupsules an’ bottle med’cines ; an’, ef 
you hain’t bettah soon, I’se gwintah try my cure fuh froat 
complaints.” 

“What is your cure, Aunt Cassie?” 

“De grease ob de polecat, honey. It’ll beduce dat 
swellin’ an’ cl’ar up yo’ windpipes.” 


AUNT CASS IE AND “ DE RABBIT FOOT” 247 

“But a polecat, Aunt Cassie!” protested the girl in 
horrified tones. 

“Well, he air a jubus crittah to tackle, dat’s a fac’, but 
his grease beats all de doctah’s stuff in creation. You ketch 
a polecat, an’ roast him, ha’r an’ hide, an’ when de fat 
begins to sizzle out, you git some raid flannel — a piece ob 
a ole flannel petticoat is de very thing — an’ you soaks it in 
de polecat grease, an’ bind it ’roun’ yo’ froat. Ef dat doan 
cure you, dah’s only one thing whut kin.” 

“What’s that?” asked Kate, anxious to turn the old 
darkey’s attention away from the polecat question. 

“De rabbit foot, chile,” answered Aunt Cassie, standing 
at the foot of the bed, her hands on her hips, as she gravely 
inspected her patient. “Dat’ll chawm ’way any froat trouble 
in de world. I usetah suffah wid dem nasty brown creeters” 
(bronchitis) “in my froat, an’ sometimes I would git so 
stopped up I could hardly draw breaf an’ would wheeze an’ 
rattle wossen a sawmill. Ole Doctah Clark he dose an’ he 
dose me, an’ tinkers at my froat an’ chist ; but I nebbah got 
no bettah tell I got dat rabbit foot. Jake Simmons (he’s daid 
now) he wuz a cunjur — not de bad kind, honey; but de sort 
whut goes ’roun’ like dat S’mar’tin’ man in de Bible — he 
comes ovah one day when I wuz settin’ propped up in bed, 
wheezin’ turble, an’ he said, ‘Sistah Withers, I fotch you 
somethin’ whut’ll knock dem brown creeters outen yo’ wind- 
pipes quicker’n you kin say Jack Robinson. It’s de lef ’ hine 
foot ob a buck rabbit. I kotch him in de graveyard at 
twelve o’clock Sat’dy night. You jes’ grease yo’ froat an’ 
chist an’ de bottoms ob yo’ feet, den bine dis heah rabbit 
foot ’roun’ yo’ naik, shet yo’ eyes, an’ go to bed backuds, 
an’ you shorely will git well.’ I did jes’ ez he say fuh two, 
three nights, an’ ebry one dem brown creeters done lef’ my 
froat, an’ I breave lak a new-bawn infunt. I wore dat rab- 
bit foot ’roun’ my naik a long time, an’ nebbah had no 


248 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


trouble wid my froat nor nary tech o’ rheumatiz, nuthah ; 
but de string got ole, an’ I drapped that rabbit foot one day 
when I wuz in de yard, hangin’ out clothes ; an’ I reckon 
de dawgs mustah eat him, fuh I nebbah find him. But if 
dat bawdacious niggah, Charles Withers, wuz at hisse’f, he 
could ketch another rabbit fuh us. Gawd he’p de pore 
creeter! I doan know whut’s gwintah come o’ him.” 

“Is Uncle Charley sick?” 

“La, honey, he hain’t whut you might call sick, but his 
wits been a wool-gethrin’ more’n a week — he’s got one ob 
his spaills on him — de wust he’s had since dat time two, 
three years ago when he wuz took suddint lak on his way 
home frum de post-office. He fell an’ cut his haid dread- 
ful, an’ he lost de mail-sack an’ all de lettahs. He bled 
pow’ful frum dat cut, an’ I reckon most ob de bad blood 
wuz let outen his haid, bekase he didn’t hab nary spaill fuh 
a long time. But now he’s got ’em ag’in, an’ de moon’s 
full, too, an’ dat aggavates his malurdy. Whut you reckon 
he done yistiddy? I seed him out at de woodpile, tryin’ to 
dig de frozen groun’. I ax him whut he wuz doin’ wid dat 
spade; he look kindah sheepish lak, an’ say he’s a-diggin’ 
fishin’-worms, bekase he ’lows to go fishin’ next day, ef 
Boss kin spar’ him outen de harvus-fiel’. Did you evah 
heah tell o’ sich crazy doin’s — thinkin’ it harvus-time, when 
it’s cold ’nough to freeze de buttons offen yo’ shoes; an’ 
a-diggin’ fuh fishin’-worms, when de groun’s froze hard ez 
a brickbat? Shore’s you’re bawn, dat blue-gummed witch 
niggah, Lishe Handy, hez done cunjur him, fuh he act jes’ 
lak de man in de Good Book whut wuz presessed by de 
debble.” 

“But, Aunt Cassie, Mr. Bright says Uncle Charley’s 
spells are due to a kick on the head from a mule.” 

“Go ’long, Miss Kate! Dat’s only white folks reas’nin’. 
Charles done got ovah dat mule-kick long ’go. I tells you 


AUNT CASS/E AND “ DE RABBIT FOOT" 249 


he’s cunjured. He’d been well ez common fuh a long time, 
an’ spry ez a ant, tell day befoh yistiddy mawnin’,'when he 
went to de bawn to feed; an’ when he come back he wuz 
a-reelin’ an’ tremblin' an’ talkin’ to hisse’f ; so I’s sartin a 
hoodoo chawm had been laid fuh him in dat bawn loft. 
Whut’s more, Lishe Handy laid it, kaze I seen him airly 
dat mawnin’ slinkin’ ’roun’ behind de bawn, with a big sack 
ovah his shouldah, with somethin’ heavy in one end. Dat 
wuz somethin’ fuh to cun jure Charles.” 

“Perhaps it was a jug of whisky in that sack, and Lishe 
sold it to Uncle Charley,” ventured Katharine. 

“Whisky? Good land! Whut put sich notions in yo’ 
haid, Miss Kate? Don’t you know Charles Withers is a 
good tippler, an’ b’longs to -de Blue Ribbon Band? He 
wouldn’t tech a drap o’ whisky if ’twuz fuh to save his life. 
He’s a pore, ’dieted crittah, but he hain’t no drunkud, I kin 
tell you. Why, I’s hearn him say of’en an’ of’en dat he 
hates de stuff wossen pizen, an’ dat a drap o’ liquid would 
kill him. ’Sides, he gibs me his money to keep. He hain’t 
got nary a cent to spend fuh whisky. Lishe Handy do sell 
de stuff, dey say, an’ he gits it ovah to Durritt, but Charles 
Withers hain’t one o’ his customers, dat’s sartin.*” 

“But Mr. Bright gave him an extra fifty cents, you told 
me, last Saturday. Perhaps he might have spent that for 
whisky,” again ventured the sick girl, saying this merely 
for the sake of drawing the old negro out, but not intending 
to hurt her wifely feelings. 

“He nevah spent dat fuh no whisky, I kin tell you. He 
d rapped it outen his britches pocket, out in de stable lot, de 
very day befoh he had dat spaill in his head. He come 
straight an’ tole me ’bout it, an’ I knowed it wuz true, fuh 
I seen de very hole in his pocket he drapped it frum, an’ I 
went an’ hepped him look fuh de money. We couldn’t find 
it, so T ’lows it done rolled undah de stable. No, ma’am ! 


250 


THE MAH FROM AUSTRALIA 


Charles air a pore, onfortunit niggah, but he hain’t no 
drunkud ; an’ I didn’t think you, Miss Kate, would ’cuse him 
o’ sich doin’s,” and, so saying, the old negress picked up 
her tray of dishes and departed from the room in high 
dudgeon. 

When Dr. Moreland called to see Kate and his down- 
stairs patients, that afternoon, Aunt Cassie was still in a 
huff, and very crusty and contradictory. When she had left 
the room for awhile, Kate told Ralph and Mrs. Bright, who 
had come upstairs with the doctor, what had displeased 
Cassie. They laughed heartily, and Moreland said he was 
convinced that Uncle Charley did have a jug hidden in the 
stable loft, and that his crazy spell would last just as long 
as the whisky did. 

That night Ralph, in order to bring a smile to Philip’s 
unusually somber face, laughingly related the incident of 
the “hoodoo chawm.” He likewise spoke of the old negro 
man’s accident of a year or two before when he had lost 
the mail-sack. “The old fellow,’’ he added, “is, or has been, 
subject to slight epileptic fits now and then, and, moreover, 
he is getting very old and childish and forgetful, but I 
believe his ‘spaills,’ as his wife calls them, are more fre- 
quently due to whisky than to epilepsy or senility. At any 
rate, he isn’t to be trusted ; and, if I were Bright, I wouldn’t 
keep him on the place.” 

The doctor resumed his newspaper, and Bryce took up 
his book again, but he did not read. He recalled his having 
given that note to Uncle Charley to hand Kate, and he now 
for the first time doubted as to its having reached her ; but 
then he thought of that first note, the one he had sent her 
through the mail. He also thought of how she had returned 
his books without a line or a message of any sort, and he 
was still puzzled. 


251 


STRICTLY CONFIDENTIAL 


CHAPTER XXX . 

STRICTLY CONFIDENTIAL. 

“Miss Kate,” said Mrs. Bright one afternoon in Jan- 
uary, “have you heard the news ? Shelburn Broadus is off 
to Chicago — he left this morning, bag and baggage; and he 
doesn’t mean to return, I reckon ; for the Jupiter office has 
the sign To Rent’ posted over the door, and the printing 
apparatus and office fixtures are advertised for sale.’’ 

“Gone to Chicago !’’ exclaimed Kate. “What can be the 
reason for this sudden move?’’ * : 

“Diana Henson’s the reason, I guess,’’ answered Mrs. 
Bright. “I’d bet anything she’s thrown him over; and, 
between you and me, I hope she has. Mr. Broadus is a 
very nice man, so far as I know ; but he and Di aren’t at 
all suited to each other, and whatever possessed her to 
promise to marry him, in the first place, passes me. Any- 
body with eyes in her head could see she didn’t care three 
straws about him.’’ 

Katharine spent the night with Diana, soon after this, 
and learned all about the matter. 

“It’s easy for people to criticize and call me a flirt,’’ 
said Diana, when the two girls had retired to their room, 
“but other people weren’t engaged to Shelburn Broadus foi 
seven months, hence they can’t understand what I endured. 
I was in a reckless, discontented mood, or I should never 
have accepted him.” 

“Of course you were, and unhappy, too — as you deserved 
to be for treating Dr. Moreland as you had done,” boldly 
asserted Kate. 

“Oh, never mind that now. It’s done and can’t be 
helped, and I want to forget. I was, as I said, reckless 
and unha — discontented. Moreover, I. was touched by what 


252 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRAL/A 


I thought Mr. Broadus’ deep love ; but before we had been 
engaged a month I found I had been mistaken about that. 
He was proud of what he was pleased to consider my good 
looks ; and I suppose he thought I would be a credit to his 
taste, and that the marriage would be a prudent match for 
him, from a worldly point of view ; but, as for love, he 
hasn’t learned the alphabet, nor ever will. He’s a born old 
maid with a mind encased in prudery, primness and preju- 
dice.” 

“Aren’t you a little bit unjust?” asked Katharine, slyly 
— not that she did not acquiesce in Diana’s reading of the 
editor’s character, but that she wanted to draw Diana on to 
speak her full mind. “Mr. Broadus is well read and cul- 
tured, and he has a nice sense of humor, too, if only he’d 
give it its head, instead of swaddling it in conventionalities, 
and keeping it in the leading-strings of proprieties; but 
your influence could probably have cured him of that.” 

“If I’m unjust,” answered Diana, petulantly, “you’re 
insincere. Of course it’s nice of you to always take up 
for the absent, but you don’t really believe that rubbish 
about Shelburn Broadus’ culture, any more than I do. I 
admit that his brain is a perfect thesaurus of facts and 
generalities, but he has no more originality or independence 
of thought than a flea; so how can you call him cultured? 
Being engaged to him was like being tied to a bundle of 
statistics or associated with a walking bureau of unprofit- 
able information.” 

“What did your father and mother say to your engage- 
ment?” Kate presently inquired. 

“Mother cried a good deal, and looked very mournful 
for a few days, but after that she seemed to get over her 
disappointment — you know what a placid, easy-going old 
dear she is. But, poor Dad! he took it as hard as if I had 
announced an intention to enter a convent. He and I have 


STRICTLY CONFIDENTIAL 


253 


always been such chums, and it .made me perfectly wretched 
fo know that he disapproved of me. He told me I was a 
willful, capricious girl, and that he’d lost confidence in me. 
Then he used to look at me sometimes with such a look of 
disappointment and wistfulness; and, do you know, he 
never made a pun nor told a single joke for weeks; so he 
must have been hard hit. But John was the worst of all. 
At first he wanted to go straight off to Mr. Broadus and 
tell him I had acted hastily, that I had changed my mind, 
and wanted to be free. When I wouldn’t allow him to do 
that, he was absolutely outrageous. He said I was an 
unfeeling wretch, that I had treated Ralph Moreland shame- 
fully, that I was bent on wrecking my own life and break- 
ing father’s heart. He ended his harangue by declaring 
that he was done with me, and that I might go to ruin my 
own way, for all of him. Just think of such a speech from 
John, the sunniest natured, mpst affectionate brother that 
ever was! It was the only time in his life that he ever 
spoke rudely to me, and it nearly killed me. After about a 
month of this uncomfortable state of affairs, John found 
me alone in the library one evening, crying. He sat down 
beside me, put his arm around me, apd we had a nice, 
comfy little weep together. He told me he had been too 
harsh with me, and asked pardon for every hateful word 
he had said. He must have spoken to Dad, too, for he 
(Dad, I mean) was much less frosty after that, and the 
next time Mr. Broadus came they were all quite cordial to 
him. I think mother really grew to like him. Dad tried to 
like him, but he never quite succeeded, and every now and 
then he would let escape some disparaging comment. Oh, 
it was a trying, weary time, I do assure you. I wanted 
sympathy, and I longed to talk over everything with you, 
but I felt that you disapproved of me ; and so I kept aloof 
from you as much as possible.” 


254 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


“Yes, you would have had scant sympathy from me. I 
wanted to give you a good shaking," bluntly acknowledged 
the other girl. “But tell me,” she added, “how you at last 
summoned up resolution to break with Mr. Broadus?” 

“As I said, I soon found he didn't really love me. At 
first he was all tenderness and admiration, but he gradually 
became critical and faultfinding. Nothing I said or did or 
wore seemed to please him. Yes, he actually took to criti- 
cizing my clothes, and to hinting about poor taste.” 

“What? How dared he!” was Kate’s indignant ejacu- 
lation. 

“And,” continued Diana, “he would preach about ex- 
travagance. He was a regular miser, I soon discovered. 
He was never willing to spend money taking me places, and 
the only presents he ever made me were a lot of the dullest, 
dryest books ; and to make sure that I read them, he’d ask 
questions about their contents. My answers never seemed 
to please him, either, and he’d intimate that my mind was 
frivolous and my education sadly superficial.” 

“You poor darling!” was Kate’s fervid ejaculation. “No 
wonder you couldn’t stand him ! As a professor in a feeble- 
minded institute, his services would be invaluable ; but as a 
lover — -insufferable !” 

Diana, greatly comforted by her friend’s sympathy, went 
on : “He’d talk about ‘intellectual standards’ and ‘cultah’ 
and such stuff, until I longed to throw something heavy at 
his head.” 

“It’s a wonder you didn’t ; I should, I’m certain.” 

“Oh, no, you wouldn’t; you’re too dainty and dignified 
for that,” rejoined Diana ; “but, as for me, I don’t see how 
I restrained myself. Well, after a time he ceased trying 
to cultivate my mind by means of books (I suppose he 
concluded it was a hopeless task), and then he began a 
system of instilling knowledge better adapted to my poor, 


STRICTLY CONFIDENTIAL 255 

untrained faculties — I mean the conversational method. No 
matter what subject we talked upon, he’d manage to give 
the conversation an improving turn, by insinuating tidbits 
of cut and dried wisdom, which he kept done up in neat 
little packages ready for any emergency; and these he was 
■continually offering me, as though they were chocolate 
drops or caramels; until I felt that I was getting to be a 
compendium of statistical information, myself. Of course 
I was wild to get rid of him ; but whenever I’d hint that we 
weren’t suited to each other, he’d become alarmed, and 
declare I suited him exactly, that he loved me devotedly, 
and all that kind of palaver. He’d be real nice and con- 
siderate for awhile, and I’d think I was really beginning 
to like him ; but just as I was getting a little reconciled 
to the engagement, he’d drop his loverlike manner, and 
become as opinionated and faultfinding as ever. It was 
*Rasselas’ that finally brought the crisis.” 

“ ‘Rasselas’?” was Kate’s inquiry. “Fancy any one dis- 
cussing ‘Rasselas’ in this day and time! Why, the subject 
is prehistoric.” 

Diana continued : “We were, as usual, discussing books, 
and he said ‘Rasselas’ was one of the finest pieces of litera- 
ture he had ever read. I always detested the book — never 
could see anything find about it. Could you?” 

“Except, perhaps, the opening passage, and that has 
foeen greatly overrated, I think,” was the reply. 

“At any rate,” said Diana, “when I expressed my opin- 
ion, he was horrified. He told me I had no literary discern- 
ment and that my mind was in a state of utter confusion. I 
told him that well might be, for to have to listen to him 
from day to day was enough to reduce any mind to chaos ; 
but that I had brains enough left to see that this state of 
-affairs was getting unendurable. I offered him his ring. He 
wouldn’t take it. Instead, he began preaching about ‘honor’ 


256 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


and the 'sacredness of one’s plighted word,’ and so on. By 
this time I was reckless of consequences, and I said some- 
thing which so shocked him that he snatched his hat and 
left without even saying ‘Good evening.’ Next morning I 
sent his ring and letters and books with a note saying my 
decision was irrevocable, and that I desired never to see him 
again. He sought an interview with Dad at the mill. I 
don’t know exactly what passed between them, but, a few 
days after, he left for Chicago. .When Dad came home 
from that interview, he just opened wide his arms, and I 
rushed into them, and he kissed me for the first time in 
months, and said : ‘Thank Heaven ! I have my precious girl 
back again ! And as for that refrigerated bundle of ego- 
tism, Shelburn Broadus, he shall never darken my doors 
again !’ ” 

“Di, what was that speech you made that caused Mr. 
Broadus to hustle off without bidding you good evening?’' 
Kate asked presently. 

“Kate, it was something horrible — so unladylike. I’d 
rather not tell.” 

“Come, out with it, Miss! I shan’t let you off.” 

“I told him he had the wrong name — that he should 
have been called ‘Shelburn Narrow-gauge ;’ for that a more 
narrow-minded bigot never lived.” 

“As for that,” replied the other, “his name suits him to 
a T — the word ‘Broadus,’ being interpreted, means, ‘Ye 
gods, make us broad!’ But was that all you said to him?” 

“No,” was the reluctant admission, “it wasn’t. I told 
him, too, that it would be a crime for him to marry me ; 
as he was so wedded to his own opinions that it would be 
nothing less than bigamy. Wasn’t that an outrageous 
speech for a young lady to make?” 

“Good for you, my dear!” was the reply. “I should have 
said it, too, in your place — only I never think of sharp 


STRICTLY CONFIDENTIAL 


257 


speeches until it’s too late to make them. He richly deserved 
all you gave him. And, oh, I’m so happy that I have my 
dear, naughty old Di back again. So, let’s go to sleep. The 
clock struck one some time ago.” 

After lying still a few moments, Diana said, “Kate, have 
you noticed the change in Mr. Bryce’s preaching, since he 
came back?” 

“Why, yes. His views appear to have gone through 
some process of readjustment,” was the nonchalant answer. 

“Don’t you like the change?” asked Diana. 

“Of course. You know I never believed in any of those 
‘New Cult’ ideas on religious subjects. But why discuss the 
matter now? We’d much better get to sleep,” answered 
Kate, uneasily. 

Instead of following this suggestion, the other girl 
waited a moment and then asked, “Katharine, what’s wrong 
between you and Mr. Bryce?” 

This question was parried by another, “What in the 
world makes you imagine anything of the sort?” 

“Imagine, indeed !” was the impatient retort. “I know 
there is. So please tell me all about it.” 

With a short laugh and a tone implying that the speaker 
meant to ignore the request, came the answer, “My experi- 
ences, if I have any, are like some stories, the better for 
not being told.” 

But Miss Henson, who had no intention of letting her 
bedmate off in this way, persisted until Kate related all that 
had transpired at her last interview with Philip. 

“He did act absurdly,” acknowledged Diana, “and so 
did you, for that matter; but his sensitiveness and embar- 
rassment were only a proof that he loved you. However, 
after he’d had time to think, he surely wasn’t so foolish as 
to let a laugh estrange you from him. What happened 
after that? He wrote you, didn’t he?” 


258 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


“From that day to this I haven’t had a line from him; 
nor have we exchanged a word alone together,” was the 
emphatic reply. 

“I can’t understand it, but I’m sure there’s a big mistake 
somewhere,” said Diana. “I was over at Aunt Sarah’s soon 
after that. Let me see! It was the second Tuesday in 
May. I remember it distinctly. It was when Dr. Moreland 
was attending the Medical Congress in Louisville, so I felt 
free to go to Elmarch; and it was on Tuesday, the day 
after he had gone. That was just a week after the inter- 
view between you and Mr. Bryce, wasn’t it?” 

Kate had good reason to remember that date, and her 
answer was prompt, “Yes, the last time he called on me 
was Tuesday evening, May fourth.” 

Whereupon Diana told of the incident of Uncle Char- 
ley’s bringing back Philip’s books, and of how disconcerted 
Philip was when he found the negro had brought no mes- 
sage. “Imagine, if you can,” she continued, “how I felt 
when Sir Philip, after having asked if he might drive me 
home, sprang into his buggy, and drove off in the opposite 
direction without even deigning me a look. When he finally 
came to himself sufficiently to remember my existence, he 
hurried back, and was profuse, even abject, in his apologies^ 
On the drive home he talked rapidly and laughed a great 
deal, but his laugh had a bitter twang, and as for his con- 
versation, I don’t believe he even was conscious what he 
was talking about. But I forgave him everything, for I 
could see that he was troubled about something, and I 
shrewdly suspected you to be that something. So now, 
explain this matter, if you can.” 

“But I can’t,” answered Katharine. “You think he 
wrote me, but if he did, I never had the letter. I thought, 
just as you do, that however much he might have felt hurt 
that night when I laughed, he was too sensible to let so silly 


STRICTLY CONFIDENTIAL 


25S 


a cause long disturb him. So I expected him to come back 
soon. In fact, I looked for him every night until a whole 
week had passed, and then, when he still gave no sign, I 
grew indignant, and returned his books without a word.” 

“I’m as sure as that I’m lying here, that he did write, 
and that he loved you with all his heart,” Diana declared. 
“And now, my dear girl, what is the best thing to be done 
to set tips matter straight?” 

“There’s nothing to be done. My lips are closed, of 
course,” said Miss Marshall. 

“But mine are not,” answered her friend, “and I’m not 
going to let you two ruin your lives for want of a word 
from me. I mean to have a talk with that young man 
before I’m twenty-four hours older.” 

“You shall do no such thing!” 

“Oh, I’ll be careful and diplomatic. I won’t say or hint 
a syllable to compromise you, but — ” 

“Indeed, indeed, you shall say nothing — nothing what- 
ever,” reiterated Kate, emphatically. “If he’s so foolish as 
to let things go on without himself trying to clear up the 
misunderstanding, why — why, he isn’t worth troubling 
about. Besides, he might have been only having a little 
flirtation with me, in the first place. For all we know to 
the contrary, he may be engaged to some girl in Australia.” 

“Nonsense!” exclaimed Diana. “He was a mere boy 
when he left Australia.” 

“But,” weakly put in Kate, “he might, since coming to 
America, have become betrothed to some Australian girl — 
by corresponding with her, you know.” 

“What!” ejaculated Philip’s defender, “Mr. Bryce en- 
gaged to another girl, when at the same time he was telling 
you by every glance of his eyes and every tone of his voice 
that he loved you ! He isn’t that kind of a man.” 

Katharine, more for the pleasure of hearing her friend 


260 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


defend Philip than because she believed what she herself 
was saying, said, with well-assumed indifference: “Preach- 
ers are great flirts, Pve been told, and think nothing of 
having three or four love affairs on hand at the same time. 
So, one never knows what they’re up to.” 

“One does know,” was the indignant rejoinder; “at 
least, one does know, if the man is such a one as Philip 
Bryce. He’s far from being one of that abominable species, 
the preacher flirt. You deserve a good pinching for that 
speech, my lady; and I’d give you your deserts, too, if I 
weren’t perfectly sure that you don’t believe a word of 
what you’re saying. Pm confident (and what’s more, I 
believe you are) that Philip Bryce loves you still. Oh, I 
could so easily make it all right between you, if you’d only 
let me, you stubborn, proud girl.” 

However, Diana finally yielded a reluctant promise that 
she would not interfere. Presently Kate, to change the 
current of her friend’s thoughts, asked, “Di, why did you 
break your engagement to Ralph Moreland?” 

“Because I was a simpleton — a willful, conceited sim- 
pleton,” Diana answered petulantly, flouncing over on her 
side, and giving the bed-clothes an impatient tug. 

“You may have been all that,” Katharine laughingly 
answered, “but that’s no reason why you should now snatch 
all the cover, and leave me only a little corner of the sheet 
to keep me from freezing, nor why you should hump up 
your back at me in this way. Just turn over again, and 
tell me all about it, like a good girl.” 

“We quarreled first about my going to Townsends’ 
party with Harry Sylvester,” was the grudging reply. 

“Yes, I guessed as much. But why should he quarrel 
with you about that, if Harry asked for your company 
before Dr. Moreland had done so?” 

“I did treat Ra — Dr. Moreland — shabbily. I half led 


STRICTLY CONFIDENTIAL 


261 


him to think I was going with him, instead of telling him 
straight out and at once that I had made a previous engage- 
ment for the evening with Harry; but I thought I could 
make it up with Dr. Moreland as soon as I saw him. I 
meant to be so sweet and gracious that he’d forget my 
behavior in regard to Harry. But when we got to that ill- 
fated Townsend ball, everything seemed to work contrari- 
wise. As soon as Dr. Moreland came he sought me out, and 
told me that it was no place for me, and urged me to leave 
at once. His tone wasn’t by any means gentle or persuasive, 
but peremptory and dictatorial ; and each word he said 
made me the more determined to have my own way. He 
left me in a huff, and after that he wouldn’t come near me 
the whole evening. Instead, he stood mooning and gloom- 
ing around, and glaring at me and my partners as though 
he thirsted for our blood. His conduct so enraged me that 
I did all in my power to punish him. The more he scowled, 
the harder I flirted with Harry Sylvester and others.” 

“But surely, Di, he had some excuse for his surly 
behavior.” 

“Haven’t I admitted that he had? But if he felt that 
way, he should have left the house, or else have carried 
himself coolly before other people, instead of making him- 
self conspicuous by his surliness. So, when he came to see 
me next morning, I fully expected him to be ashamed of 
himself; and after he had expressed penitence, I was to 
ask pardon for my little peccadilloes, too. I had it all beau- 
tifully mapped out — what he was to say, and what I was to 
say, and how we were then to kiss and make up. But he 
began by being hateful. He sneered and called me a vain, 
heartless coquette, and all that — you know the style, just 
like a trashy novel. Then I got mad, too, and that ended 
the interview. From that day to this he hasn’t spoken to 
me. He won’t even bow; and I am so miserable! But 


262 THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 

there ! The chickens are crowing for day, and we won’t get 
a wink of sleep, if we talk any longer. Besides, all the talk- 
ing in the world won’t mend matters or bring back the dear, 
happy days that are gone.” 






t 






THE CLOUDS DISPERSE 


263 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

THE CLOUDS DISPERSE. 

“You girls don’t look as though you slept very well last 
night,” was Mrs. Henson’s comment as Diana and Katha-; 
rine, heavy-eyed and pale, made their tardy appearance at 
the breakfast table the morning after their all-night confer- 
ence. 

“Of course they didn’t get a wink,” said John before 
either girl could speak; “and what’s more, they wouldn’t 
let me sleep, either. There’s a popular superstition that 
pretty young ladies don't snore. I never believed it my- 
self, and last night when I kept hearing a low, continuous,; 
rumbling sound from the direction of Diana’s room, I con- 
cluded she and Miss Marshall were engaged in an energetic 
snoring bout.” 

“Never mind what he says, Miss Katharine,” said Hen- 
son senior, fearing that their guest might feel hurt at his: 
son’s blunt teasing. “It was only the echo of his own 
snores he heard.” 

Henson junior, taking no notice of his father’s insinua- 
tion, proceeded: “I sat up in bed to listen, and presently I 
thought I could discern from the quality of the sound 
which was Miss Kate’s and which Di’s snore. There was 
a pianissimo, legato movement. ‘That’s Miss Marshall,’ I 
thought; and then a deeper, staccato, forte strain. ‘That’s 
Miss Henson,’ I concluded. You had both eaten more 
broiled ham for supper than was good for you, I thought ; 
and after supper you had toiled away on that hideous oldi 
duet about ‘Dreams ;’ so I concluded you were continuing 
your practice in your sleep, and that the ‘Dreams’ had 
turned into a nightmare.” 

“But, Mr. Tohn, how could that be, if, as you asserted 


264 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


a moment ago, we didn’t sleep a wink?” was Kate’s very 
reasonable query. 

“Just wait one moment, Miss Katharine, and you’ll see,” 
said John. “I stood the uproar as long as I could, but when 
it got on , my nerves to such an extent that I found my 
reason going, I — ” 

“Your what going?” inquired Diana, saucily and insinu- 
atingly. 

“My dear little girl,” replied John, patronizingly, “you; 
really should £top trying to be satirical. It isn’t your style, 
and the effort is undermining your constitution.” Then, 
resuming the thread of his interrupted narrative, he con-: 
tinued : “As I was saying, I got up, intending to stop the; 
racket. I grabbed my shoes, went into the hall, and was 
about to hurl them against yopr door, when I found that, 
instead of any snoring performance, you two lassies were 
actually talking all the time. To think of any one with a 
grain of gumption squandering the hours that belong to 
balmy slumber in foolish tittle-tattle!” 

“Daughter, you and Kate must try to take a nice nap 
some time to-day, or else you’ll both have headache, I’m 
afraid,” was Mrs. Henson’s matter-of-fact advice. 

“If that’s the way you girls are going to carry on every 
time you spend the night together, kindly say so right now ; 
so that next time I can carry my bed down cellar or out to 
the stable loft,” said John. 


One morning about a month later the quiet of Miss. 
Marshall’s schoolroom during writing-hour was interrupted 
by a peremptory knock on the front door. When she 
opened the door there stood Ralph Moreland, looking as. 
radiant as if he had just stepped out of heaven. “I won’t 
detain you a moment, Miss Katharine,” he said. “I just 
stopped by to hand you this note, and to tell you that Gin- 


THE CLOUDS DISPERSE 


265 


seng Male and Female Academy is to have a holiday four 
weeks from next Thursday, and that you are expected to 
assist at a little ceremony at Rose Lawn, at two o’clock that 
day. Good morning!” and he hurried off. 

The note was from Diana — the craziest scrawl in which 
congratulations and hopes and happiness were so con- 
fusedly blended, and the pronouns so hopelessly mixed, that 
a stranger reading it would have been puzzled to know 
whether the writer was congratulating Katharine or asking 
Katharine to congratulate the writer. The only clear thing 
about the missive, except the joyousness which danced and 
sparkled all over the page, was that “Darling Kate” was to 
come to Rose Lawn that night, and hear all about some- 
thing or other. Of course “Darling Kate” went. 

After Dr. Moreland, who spent the evening at Rose 
Lawn, had gone, Diana said: “Now, Jack, I give you fair 
warning that Kate and I intend to talk all night. So, if you 
think best, you can ‘take up your bed and walk’ down to the 
coal cellar or out to the stable loft.” 

“If you mean to spend the night in confabbing, why go 
to roost at all? Why not stay right here by this good fire, 
and talk, so that I can have the benefit of your conversa- 
tion?” retorted young Henson. 

“Few indeed would be the words that Kate or I could 
get in even edgeways, if you were in the room,” blithely 
commented his sister. 

“Furthermore,” said Kate, “we don’t intend to let you 
on to all our little confidences, Mr. John. Do we, Diana?” 

“Don’t you?” retorted John. “We’ll see about that. I 
mean to tote my little bed into the hall, and to lay me down 
just outside youi chamber door. I’ve awfully sharp ears, 
and—” 

“Don’t mind this rascal, girls,” jocularly spake Peter 
Henson, giving his son a slap on the back. “I’ll see that 


266 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


he behaves himself, even if I have to administer chloroform 
to keep him quiet/’ 

The week after Ralph and Diana were married, Philip 
Bryce and Robert Mason were to go to southern Kentucky 
as delegates to the State Convention of Christian Endeavor 
Societies. They left early Tuesday mornii That after- 
noon Katharine received the following letter : 

“Elm arch, Tuesday Morning, March 22. 

“My Dear Miss Marshall: — I enclose a note written 
you ten months since, and which, until this morning when 
I found it between the pages of last May number of the 
Forum, I supposed you had received, and had declined 
answering. 

“The Tuesday morning after the date of the enclosed, 
I entrusted the old negro, Uncle Charley, with another note 
for you. I had no answer to this second attempt ; but the 
discovery this morning of the first note inclines me to hope 
that the negro failed to deliver the §econd. 

“I have no time now for further explanation, as Mr. 
Mason is waiting to drive me to the station to catch the 
train for Henderson, where, as you may already know, we 
go to attend the State C. E. Convention. 

“We are to return next Tuesday. Will you grant me 
an interview on Wednesday evening, the day after my 
return? Please address your reply to me at Henderson, 
Ky., care Convention Hall. Yours sincerely, 

“Philip Bryce.” 

Longfellow has said, “The rays of happiness, like those 
of light, are colorless if unbroken and now, when the girl 
read this communication from Philip, it seemed to her as 
though the dreary hopelessness and despairing loneliness 


THE CLOUDS DISPERSE 


267 


through which she had passed did but make her present 
happiness brighter, sweeter, more satisfying. 

After spending a few moments alone in her room in 
deep thankfulness, she dispatched a line to Mr. Bryce, 
stating that she would be glad to receive him at the time 
requested. This done, she went for a long walk, and tried 
to realize her happiness. 

It was one of those rare, still, bright days which capri- 
cious March occasionally grants impatient nature, as a 
voucher that winter is departing and spring approaching. 
The air was yet cold, the earth brown, and the trees bare; 
but underneath the coldness, the brownness and the bare- 
ness was the strong heart-beat of coming spring. Katha- 
rine’s mood was in accord with the hope and promise of the 
day. 

Coming home from her walk, she encountered Uncle 
Charles; and she stopped to question him. “Uncle Charley,” 
she asked, “one day last May, just before my school closed, 
Mr. Bryce gave you a note for me. Why didn’t you deliver 
it?” 

The old darkey, who was getting feebler and more 
absent-minded every day, scratched his head in perplexity 
a moment, and then said in an aggrieved tone: “Brothah 
Bryce nevvah give me no note fuh you whut I hain’t give 
you. Dis heah ole woolly pate is gittin’ mighty addled, an’ 
I fears sometimes that I’s gwintah furgit my name nex’ ; 
but I’s a man uv honah, Miss Kate, efi I is a pore, addle- 
pated niggah,” as he spoke, drawing up his bent figure and 
throwing back his head, proudly, “an’ one thing is sartain,” 
he continued, “if he gives me any note or lettah, I’s shore 
to delibbah it. That stands to reason, Miss. I is alius to 
be depended on in sich mattahs.” 

“But think a minute, Uncle Charley. It was one 
Tuesday morning last May — the day when I sent you in 


268 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


the afternoon to Elmarch to take some books to Mr. 
Bryce.” : 

Upon the dusky countenance of this “man uv honah” 
there dawned a gleam of recollection. “Shore ’nough! I 
riccollec’ all about it. I wuz gwine outen the gate wif a 
bridle on my arm. I wuz on my way to the fuh pastur* to 
ketch Fleetfoot fuh Miss Nancy to ride ovah to see thatah 
sick gal at Mistah Simpson’s, when Brothah Bryce he rid 
up on his bay nag. ‘Whah’s Miss Marshall?’ he axes me. 
Says I, ‘She is done gone to school.’ Then he whips a little 
book outen his ves’ pocket, an’, a-settin’ right thah on his 
nag, he leans de book on de pummel uv his saddle, scratches 
off some writin’, an’ hands it to me, an’ he says ef I’ll gib 
the writin’ to you soon’s you ’turn frum school, an’ bring 
him yo’ answer, he will give me fifty cents.” 

“But you never gave me the note.” 

“It wuz disah way, Miss Kate. I’ll gib you de whole 
sarcumstance. I didn’t know you come back dat ebenuT 
tell I hearn you a-callin’ fuh me ; an’ when I comes, you 
speaks up suddent lak, an’ say I is to tote a passel uv books 
to Brothah Bryce. You hustle me ’roun’ so lively dat I 
saddles ole Roan, takes de books, an’ gits ha’f way to 
Elmarch ’fore I riccollec’ thatah note. Fust, I thinks I’ll 
turn back an’ give it to you. Den I reasons that it mustah 
been somethin’ consarnin’ the books ; so, ez you wuz a-send- 
in’ ’em anyways, it didn’ mattah ’bout de note. So, thinks 
I, I’ll jes’ go on wif de passel, git my money, an' come ’long 
home. I done eggzactly datah way, an’ delibbahs de books 
all right. But, would you b’lieve it, Miss Kate, I’s nevvah 
laid eyes on datah fifty cents yit! I stayed a spaill in de 
kitchen, a-passin’ de compulmints uv de season wif Tishy 
an’ Sam, an’ a-hopin’ all de time dat Brothah Bryce would 
riccollec’, an’ come ’roun’ to de kitchen to pay me whut he 
owed me. But he didn’ come; so aftah awhile I passes 


THE CLOUDS DISPERSE 


269 


roun’ to de front yard ag’in. But whut you think ! Brothah 
Bryce he done hopped in his buggy, an’ lit out fuh a ride 
wif another gal, Miss Di Henson. It wuz suttinly hot dat 
day, an’ rny haid had been feelin’ quare lak; ’sides, I wuz 
obfusticated kaze Brothah Bryce (him a preachah, too) 
wouldn’t pay me my money. So datah note clean slip my 
mind.” 

“What became of the note, Uncle Charley?” 

“Gawd knows, Miss! I reckons I jes’ tote it ’roun’ in 
my -britches pocket tell it got wored out. I is pow’ful sorry 
ef it discomboburated you any, Miss Kate.” 

“Oh, it doesn’t matter now. I just thought I would ask 
you about it. Don’t worry over it, Uncle Charles,” said the 
young lady in her most gracious manner. 


270 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

“THE UNDIMMED HOUR.” 

Nothing is true but love, nor aught of worth; 

Love is the incense which doth sweeten earth. 

— Archbishop 7 rench. 

If Philip Bryce had feared there would be difficulty in 
obtaining an interview with Katharine, free from intrusion 
of other members of the family at Willow Brook Farm, he 
was speedily reassured when he came to see her after his 
return from southern Kentucky. Mrs. Bright, whom Kate 
had that morning told that Mr. Bryce was expected in the 
evening, fully understood and sympathized with the situa- 
tion. She met the young man at the door, ushered him into 
the parlor, and, lingering only long enough to express her 
pleasure in welcoming him again to her home, and to tell 
him that Miss Kate would be down directly, she retired into 
the sitting-room. 

During the three days that had elapsed since he had 
received Kate’s letter, Philip had thought of little else than 
this meeting with her, and he had decided upon his mode of 
procedure. Before telling her his love, he would reveal all 
that had befallen him in Colorado ; and then, having made 
full confession of his weakness, sin, struggle, and of his 
new resolves and beliefs, he would ask her if she could love 
and trust him enough to marry him. That, he reasoned, 
was the only prudent or straightforward course for him to 
pursue in his wooing. But love is stronger than reason, 
and laughs at prudence as at locksmiths. 

After Mrs. Bright left the room, he, too perturbed and 
eager to sit still, paced the floor. His heart was pulsing 
madly, and a perfect battery of electric thrills seemed ting- 


“ THE UN DIMMED HOUR” 271 

ling through his veins as he waited the coming of the girl 
he loved. 

He had not long to wait ; and when she stood upon the 
threshold — tall, slim, rounded, her blue eyes shining, her 
sweet face flushed— she seemed to his enraptured senses so 
beautiful, so pure and so altogether desirable, that he for- 
got prudence, plans, everything, except that he adored her. 

With hands eagerly extended, he hastened forward — his 
face white, his eyes impassioned. For one moment they 
stood facing each other, their hands clasped, their eyes 
revealing the secret yet unspoken by the lips ; and then he 
— this prudent planner, this eloquent pleader — blurted out 
as baldly as a hobble-de-hoy, “My — my — Kate, will you 
marry me?” ; 

Blushing furiously, she tried to evade him — an effort he 
frustrated by imprisoning both hands. Still making an 
attempt at composure, she said, “Won’t you take a seat, 
Mr. Bryce?” 

Ignoring her polite request, he repeated, “Kate, will you 
marry me ?” 

Utterly disconcerted by this abrupt wooing, this usually 
^well-poised young woman could only stammer out, “Why — 
-why — why—' ” her voice trailing away into silence at the 
last repetition of the senseless monosyllable. 

His own composure somewhat restored by the sight of 
her blushing confusion, and the fact that he held her fast 
by both hands, he, in answer to her foolish exclamation, 
said, “‘Why,’ dearest? Well, just to oblige a friend of 
yours, one Philip Bryce, who loves you with every fiber of 
his being, and who is yours, heart, mind and body, if you 
will accept the gift. Will you, sweetheart ?” 

Her shy, monosyllabic answer was so low that he had to 
bend close to hear, but it was eminently satisfactory, and in 
an instant his arms were about her, and his lips were press- 


272 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


ing kisses on her brow, her drooping eyelids and her trem- 
bling mouth. 

“Do you love me, dearest?” asked this foolish lover 
presently, when they were seated on the old-fashioned sofa 
— he bending over her and trying to get her eyes to look 
into his. 

“That can be taken for granted, can it not?” she said 
tremulously, as she tried to withdraw from his encroaching 
arm. 

“But I want to hear from your lips the sweet confession, 
‘Philip, I love you.’ Won’t you say it, darling?” he mur- 
mured. • 

Again essaying to draw away from him, and to free her 
hand from his clasp, she faltered : “I don’t believe in making 
unnecessary or compromising admissions. Besides, I — I 
— can't talk freely while you sit so close to me, and hold 
my hand like that.” 

“But it’s my hand, and you surely can’t blame me for 
wanting to hold it securely or for making much of my 
priceless possession, do you?” he answered, as he raised 
her hand and kissed it fondly. 

Resigning perforce the hand into his keeping, she, with 
a tone that she vainly strove to make one of remote, con- 
ventional politeness, inquired, “Had you a pleasant visit to 
Henderson, Mr. Bryce?” 

He impolitely ignored her inquiry, and repeated, “Say 
‘Philip, I love you.’ ” 

“I like you better than I do your manners this evening, 
sir,” she parried, laughing uneasily. 

“Please say it, darling.” 

“I — I — love — oh, Philip,” she at last stammered. Then, 
regaining courage, she looked up bravely into the eyes so 
eagerly questioning hers, and with a fire equal to his own 
said: “You are the only man in the world for me. Your 


“ THE UN DIMMED HOUR" 


273 


voice is my music; your touch, your presence, my heaven. 
Are you satisfied now — you persistent, masterful Philip ?” 
she added with attempted playfulness. 

“To my heart’s core,” he answered rapturously, draw- 
ing her into a still closer embrace. 

After a short spell of blissful silence, he needs must put 
the query which all fond lovers since Adam first wooed Eve 
appear to have found it necessary to voice, “When did you 
begin to love me, dear one?” 

“I’ve told you quite enough for one night, I think. 
Moreover, it isn’t fair for you to do all the catechizing. 
It is my turn to question you, isn’t it?” 

“Ask what you will. I shall gladly answer.” 

“When did you begin to lo — to care for me?” she falter- 
ingly asked. 

“ ‘Care for’ is too meager a phrase. Say ‘love.’ That 
is the sweetest word in human language,” he interrupted. 

“Well, then, most exigent of men, when did you dis- 
cover that you loved me?” she amended. 

“I think it was that day when you, standing forlorn on 
that dreary railroad platform, raised your sweet, anxious 
eyes to mine and asked, ‘Are you Mr. Bright?’ ” 

“What! Even while you thought me an Irish nurse- 
maid?” she exclaimed incredulously. 

“But ‘a glorious, radiantly beautiful vision of a nurse- 
maid,’ as I explained to you an hour later,” he inter- 
polated. 

“But surely you couldn’t have fallen in love at first sight 
of my dust-stained, smoke-grimed face!” she expostulated, 
still unbelieving. 

His answer was prompt: “Yes, right there and then 
Cupid began, to get in his work on me; and after that 
whenever I heard your voice or was in your presence, the 
•syprld seemed radiant as a June morning. But I wasn’t 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


2f74 

perhaps fully aware of my condition until the night of the 
old folks’ concert. Then, however, I knew without per-^ 
adventure that I was yours to do with as you willed ; and 
from that night on for weeks I seemed to be in a happy 
dreamland, in which the whole world was but a background 
for the vision of sweet Katharine, and all other persons and 
happenings mere accessories to the picture. Then came 
doubt and despondency. Sometimes I’d think you returned 
my love, and my heart would sing the Jubilante Chorus ~ 
and sometimes I’d think I was no more to you than others 
of your friends here, and I’d be plunged into the lowest 
depths of gloom.” 

“That night last May when you left me so abruptly,, 
even rudely, did you love me then?” she questioned. 

“Madly, passionately. You know I did, and that I had 
come to tell you so. Moreover, you know that twice before 
that night I had tried to tell you, and that my purpose was 
frustrated— first, by little Susan and Margaret ; and the 
second time, by John Henson.” 

“In that case, how could you have allowed my foolish 
laughter, which was altogether caused by excitement and 
overwrought nerves, to turn you from your purpose ?” 

“My behavior^that night was imbecile,” he acknowl- 
edged; “but it was not due to wounded self-love over the 
discovery that you had read that childishly sentimental 
balderdash of mine, on that scrap of paper. It was because 
I felt that your laughter, yes, and your demeanor afterward 
during the rest of the evening, indicated that you didn’t 
care for me, and, indeed, that you were weary of my pres- 
ence. When I went away that night — ” 

“Looking as gloomy and as soul-embittered as the hen> 
of one of Augusta J. Evans Wilson’s romances,” interjected 
Katharine, smiling at the recollection. 

“I felt,” he continued, “as though the gates of Eden’ 


“ THE UN DIMM ED HOUR ” 275 

had clanged to, and had left me out in the blackness of 
despair.” 

“But,” she reminded him, “the same hand that had the 
power to shut the door had power to open it again ; yet you 
didn’t try to regain your Eden. Why didn’t you?” 

“I did long to try again ; but by the time I had come to 
my senses the light in the parlor had gone out, and it was 
too late, for that evening, at least. What must you have 
thought of me !” 

“I felt that with you had departed all my hopes of 
earthly happiness,” confessed the girl; and with a laugh 
she added, “and without leaving me even the poor consola- 
tion of a P. P. C. card, either.” 

“Or without giving me any chance of an R. S. V. P.,” he 
rejoined. “And since that unlucky evening,” he continued 
more gravely, “a series of misadventures and misunder- 
standings and lost notes have made of my life one unbroken 
misery. But this,” he continued, as he drew her fondly to 
him, “fully repays for all I have suffered.” 

After a short while silence again fell between them. He 
sat with his eyes fixed upon the fire, a sad, worried look 
upon his face. 

She broke the silence by the question : “Of what are you 
thinking? Your mouth is grave and stern, and there’s a 
perplexed,: even sad, look in your eyes.” 

“Pm thinking of my great unworthiness of the priceless 
gift of your love,” he answered. 

“Of course,” she returned, speaking playfully, "that’s 
quite the proper thing to say. I suppose all lovers say it. 
But in this case it is I, not you, who should feel humility. 
I can’t, though. Instead, the knowledge that I possess your 
heart makes me proud. But for you to speak of your being 
unworthy — how absurd!” 

“Ah! you don’t know you can’t know,” he replied 


276 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


dejectedly ; "and when I have told you all, as I must do, 
and as I intended doing before asking you to be my wife 
(only, when I saw you I forgot everything except my over- 
powering love for you), you. may yet turn from me.” 

“You really can’t have any very heinous crimes to 
divulge ; but, anyway, I promise beforehand full absolution 
for them, whatever they may be.” 

“No, you mustn’t promise that. When I have told you 
all, you may feel differently,” he answered firmly. 

She looked very grave at this, but tried to speak lightly, 
“You talk as though there were a regular Bluebeard cham- 
ber of horrors hidden somewhere in your past.” 

“There is, there is,” he confessed with darkening gloom. 

“And you want to reveal this chamber of horrors to 
me?” she questioned in a trembling voice, but taking his 
hand reassuringly. 

“Yes, I must. It's my duty to do so.” 

“No, no,” she protested. “At least, not to-night. Let 
us have this one evening of unmarred bliss. After that, 
tell me what you will ; and,” she added, smiling bravely up 
into his troubled eyes, “when the secret places of your past 
are opened up to the sunshine of my love and sympathy, 
'like snowdrift in thaw-time,’ your Bluebeard bogies will 
vanish forever." 

“Ah ! my dear one, I wish I could think so,” he 
exclaimed. 

“Listen to me, Philip,” she said, rising and standing 
before him. Then, as he, too, rose, she laid her hands 
upon his shoulders, and there was a celestial radiance in the 
eyes she lifted to his. Her form seemed to glow and 
expand, as with the utmost earnestness she spoke : “I have 
told you that I love you. Do you know what that means? 
Listen ! I love your heart, your mind, your nature, your 
manliness and strength and tenderness; but if you were to 



4 4 


/ have told you that I love you. Do you know what that means?" 
















“ THE UN DIMMED HOUR” 


277 


lose all that could attract another woman ; if you were 
bereft of health, beauty, position, reputation; if you were a 
poor, broken-down, suffering, sinful wretch — I should still 
love you with every fiber of my being; and I should ask no 
greater blessing than that of cherishing, caring for and 
shielding you to your life’s close.” 

Philip’s lip trembled; his eyes filled, and he covered 
his face with his hands a moment, and then murmured 
brokenly: “Oh, brave, true, tender heart! What am I that 
such a blessing should be mine ! How can I ever deserve 
50 priceless a gift?” 

His words were hardly a question, but she answered 
them. “By trusting me fully, and by believing me when I 
say that nothing you can have to confess, nothing you have 
done or thought, or could do or think in the future, could 
shake my love So, be comforted, O foolish, doubting, fear- 
ful Philip.” 


278 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


CHAPTER XXXIII . 

“where thou goest.” 

Where thou goest I will go, 

Through the sunshine or the snow; 

Where thou dwell, st I will dwell, 

In a court or in a cell ; 

All thy people mine shall be, 

Since myself is one with thee. — Unknorvn 

Katharine, who had noted, as many others had done, the 
change in Philip’s preaching during the last six months 
from what it had formerly been, naturally concluded that 
the confession he was to make to her was connected with 
this change. Accordingly, when he came to see her upon 
the Thursday evening after their betrothal, she, thinking 
thus to make his disclosure easier for him, introduced the 
subject by saying, “What you wish to tell me relates to your 
religious views, does it not?” 

“To some extent, yes,” he answered. 

“Well, then, before you begin, I want to say that I never 
held with these modern-thought doctrines. To be frank, I 
must confess that some of them seem to me to be very 
vague and unsatisfactory, and others of them really sacri- 
legious. Tve often wanted to tell you this, but until now 
I haven’t dared. So, if you mean to avow that you have 
renounced these, to me dangerous or at the best unsatisfy- 
ing positions, you may be certain beforehand of my joyful 
sympathy.” 

“Yes,” he replied, but not so brightly or hopefully as 
she had expected, “my outlook on all the vital questions of 
life and religion is widely different from what it once was ; 
and it’s the humiliating, terrible experiences through which 


“WHERE THOU GOEST ” 279 

I passed, and which caused this change, that I must tell you 
about.” 

“Begin at the very beginning, and tell me everything,” 
she urged with a smile of encouragement. 

It was a little while before he could begin. He got up 
and walked several times across the room, and then, instead 
of resuming a seat beside the girl, he took a position on the 
hearth, and, with head bowed and eyes fixed upon the fire, 
he stood with one arm leaning on the mantel, as he told 
her. 

She sat motionless with her hands tightly clasped, nor 
did she interrupt his recital by question or comment; and 
only once (while he was describing that week of debauch 
at Colorado Springs) did a single, quickly suppressed ex- 
clamation of horror escape her blanched lips. 

As he heard that cry he lifted his head and looked at 
her, but, at the sight of her stricken, ghastly face, with an 
ejaculation of despair he buried his own face in his hands, 
and the bitterness of death swept over his soul. 

“Go on ! Tell me all,” presently she said bravely. 

He did so. When he had finished she came quickly to 
him. “My dear one,” she exclaimed in a tone of melting 
tenderness, as she stroked his bowed head, “look at me.” 

“Can you ever forgive me?” he asked brokenly. 

“Tve nothing to forgive, dear Philip; and what you’ve 
told me only makes me love you more tenderly.” 

“But are you not afraid to trust me?” 

“Afraid? No. On the contrary, I’ve more solid ground 
than ever before for my trust. Against great odds, with 
no human being to help you, and while you were not only 
sick in body but sick of heart, you fought against your old 
appetite, and conquered; and ‘this victory will help you 
others to win.’ You remember, don’t you, that lovely 
thought from Amiel — ‘How, then, is one to recover cour- 


280 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


age enough for action, after one has once succumbed to 
temptation ? By extracting a richer experience out of our 
losses and lessons.’ ” 

“Then, you don’t think there is danger of my becoming 
a morphine fiend?” he asked with a shudder at the revolt- 
ing idea. 

“No, no! You know your weakness, and will guard 
against it; and our Father in whom you now so rever- 
ently trust will help you to win. My precious boy, I can, 
like you, thank him for the awful frial through which you 
have passed, because that trial was what was needed to 
clear your spiritual vision of doubts and speculations, and 
to plant your feet firmly on the solid rock of faith.” 

“Yes, yes,” he said, “it has done all that for me ; and 
that should make me forever grateful for the humiliation 
of that fearful experience through which I had to pass to 
teach me the truth'. But, oh, darling, if it had cost me your 
love and confidence, it would — ” 

“But that love and confidence, instead of being de- 
stroyed, are stronger than ever before,” she again assured 
him. 

“How you comfort and strengthen me,” he exclaimed, 
as they were again seated side by side on the sofa. 

After a short silence he said, “Beloved, there’s some- 
thing else I should have made clear to you before I asked 
you to plight me your troth.” 

“What is it?” she asked, smiling bravely and trying to 
speak confidently. 

“You may remember my telling you one day last spring 
that it was my intention to return some day to my native 
land ?” he said, looking at her inquiringly. 

“Yes, I remember.” 

“Well, I can’t alter that intention. I’m needed there far 
more than here. Moreover, I’m pledged to the work out 


WHERE THOU GOEST" 


281 


i i 


there; and my parents have my promise that I will come 
back as soon as my three years’ engagement with the church 
in this place is fulfilled. But are you willing to give up 
your home, kindred, country, and to go with me to the 
Antipodes — for life, it may be; for a long term of years, 
at any rate?’’ 

“ ‘Whither thou goest I will go.’ ‘For better or for 
worse’ I am yours, dear Philip.” 

“But does not the ‘ better mean, with you, life in Amer- 
ica ; and the * worse,' life in Australia?” he asked, looking 
at her anxiously. 

“The ‘better,’ nay, the best, means anywhere with the 
man I love. The ‘worse,’ anywhere without him,” she 
stoutly asserted. 

“Spoken like my own noble Kate!” he rapturously 
exclaimed. 

“Furthermore,” she continued with a mischievous smile, 
“I’ve a great desire to see that far-away country of yours, 
if for no other reason than to find out for myself how much 
of its glories you have so often described to me are realities, 
and how much are the patriotic rhapsodies of your vivid 
fancy. Oh, yes, Sir Philip Sidney Bryce, by your leave or 
without your leave, I mean to visit that home land of yours; 
and if you won’t let me go with you, I’ll go alone or with 
some party of emigrants.” 

“Oh, well,” her lover said, playfully pinching her cheek, 
“under the circumstances I suppose I had better let you go 
along with me. I might lose you were I to allow you to 
wander alone or with strangers through our vast country.” 

“You must remember, too,” she resumed presently, with 
more seriousness, “that I am singularly alone in the world 
— with no close home ties to bind me to this country. True, 
I am always sure of a welcome in my uncle’s house, but he 
and his wife have children of their own, and don’t need me. 


282 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


So it isn’t as it might have been, had you chosen some girl 
richly dowered with near kindred. Your poor Kate is 
motherless, fatherless, brotherless and sisterless.” 

“Ah,. sweetheart, all that is changed now,” he hastened 
to assure her. “My people shall be your people. My father 
and mother will open wide their arms to their sweet Ken- 
tucky daughter, and Helen will be your dear sister. They’ll 
love and cherish you as their own. How I look forward to 
seeing you with them at Undulata, their beautiful Aus- 
tralian home.” 

The girl said nothing, but the grateful, happy look in 
the eyes she lifted to her lover’s was answer enough. 

“So now,” he said after awhile, “the next question is, 
When and where can we be married ?” 

“There’s a long time in which to arrange the when and 
where of that matter,” she answered. “It will be nearly 
two years, will it not, before you go to Australia ?” 

“What of that? Do you imagine I intend to wait to 
claim you until I am leaving this country?” 

“But the voyage to Australia would make an ideal bridal 
trip,” she said. 

“Very well,” he replied, “marry me now, and we’ll take 
our wedding tour two years hence. It will still be our 
honeymoon time, you know ; for that is going to last 
throughout our life.” 

“A bridal tour two years after marriage would indeed 
be a novel procedure,” she laughingly commented. 

“Sp it would,” he assented, “novel and romantic and 
ideal. Hence, you see, there’s really nothing to prevent our 
being married at once. I need you every day and hour; 
and I’ve already waited for you over a year. I don’t think 
I can wait any longer. So, I propose that, without saying 
a ! word to any one about it, we drive over to Durritt 
tormorrow and get married. Wouldn’t that be heavenly?” 


“ WHERE THOU GUEST" 


283 


“To-morrow !” she exclaimed, aghast at such a proposal. 
“‘On Friday, too ! The very idea !” 

“Sure enough! to-morrow will be Friday. I’d forgotten 
the day of the week, and everything else, for that matter, 
except that you are my promised wife. But you’re too 
sensible a girl to heed that silly superstition about Friday 
being an unlucky day. Still, I don’t want to hurry you too 
much. I, therefore, amend my proposition, and name some 
day next week as our wedding-day — say Wednesday or 
Thursday. What say you?” 

“Now do be a little bit rational,” she pleaded. “You 
forget my school. That doesn’t close until the last week 
in May.” 

“But you can resign.” 

“No, that would be treating my patrons shabbily,” she 
objected. “Besides, impetuous man, I decline to rush into 
matrimony in this offhand, hurry-skurry style. You fairly 
take my breath away when you propose such a thing. Why, 
for one thing, I haven’t any suitable clothes.” 

“Clothes!” he ejaculated with true masculine contempt. 
“What is the use of bothering about that? You’re always 
beautifully dressed; and, as for a trousseau, you can get it 
afterwards — a post-nuptial trousseau, you understand. As 
for the rest, you’ve a dress suitable to be married in, I 
know.” 

“Perhaps,” she said saucily, stepping out before him and 
making him a mocking curtsey, “you think this antiquated 
blue serge garment would do as a wedding gown.” 

“Certainly. I think it is lovely. However, if you don’t 
consider it altogether comme il fant, where’s that fluffy, 
frilly, diaphanous white dress, in which you looked so 
entrancing that first Sunday afternoon I called on you? 
White is always in style, isn’t it? And nothing could be 
more appropriate for a bride.” 


284 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


“That old Paris muslin!” she ejaculated scornfully. 
“Why, I gave it to Aunt Cassie last fall, to make over into 
a dress for Ivory to wear to a negro festival.” 

“Oh, now I have it!” the young man exclaimed. “That, 
sheeny, silvery, silky blue confection you wore the night of 
the Townsend party, when you ruthlessly trampled on my 
pride and affection. Poetic justice would demand that you 
wear that very gown when you marry me.” 

The entrance of Alec at this moment, with coals to 
replenish the fire, interrupted this interesting dress dis- 
cussion; and when he left the room the topic of wedding 
garments was not resumed. 

Katharine adhered to her resolution to finish her school 
term; and her lover, therefore, at last reluctantly consented 
to wait until June, and then to be married at Covington, at 
the home of Kate’s relatives. 

A week or two after this matter had been settled, Philip 
told Kate that he had been thinking he should preach a 
sermon which would clearly set forth the change in his 
religious views. At first she tried to dissuade him from 
this purpose, by arguing that the trend of his teachings for 
the last six months had been in that direction ; but he still 
thought he should come out more plainly. “I must do my 
utmost,” he said, “to remove the difficulties and doubts 
which my former erroneous teachings have created in the 
minds of some of these people. Until I do this, I can 
neither feel that I have won the entire confidence of the 
few of my brethren who are aware of my changed position, 
nor can I forcibly and effectually present the truth to those 
who once accepted my false views as the true gospel ; and 
in order to do this, it isn’t sufficient that I now preach the 
truth, but it is also necessary that I publicly and emphatic- 
ally declare that I have forever renounced my former false 
doctrines.” 


“ WHERE THOU GOEST ” 


285 


“Yes, I now see that is the right thing for you to do/* 
said Katharine, sympathetically , “but it will be very trying, 
very hard for you.” 

“How hard, how trying to a person of my temperament 
to publicly acknowledge that he has been in error, even you, 
my darling, who love me, can hardly comprehend. But it 
is my duty to do this, and by God’s help I shall do it.” 

“Yes, and if my encouragement and sympathy can help 
you any, you may be sure they are yours, dearest,” said the 
girl, with a loving smile. 


286 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


CHAPTER XXXIV . 

THE MAGNETISM OF THE CROSS. 

If the Christian church is going to tie her fortunes to moral philos- 
ophy, God help her! We must get back to the religion of our fathers, 
to the atoning blood, or go on to pessimism, atheism and despair. — 
President Patton. 

Upon a certain Sunday morning in May, Philip Bryce, 
prompted by his sense of duty to the people whom in times 
past he had misled by his teachings, encouraged by the 
noble girl who had plighted him her troth, and guided and 
strengthened by the Holy Spirit, preached a sermon which 
stirred the heart of each listener, and ushered in a new 
epoch of spiritual growth to the church at Ginseng. 

After the morning Scripture reading, which consisted 
of the last eighteen verses of the first chapter of First 
Corinthians, the congregation united in singing that inimi- 
table hymn, “When I survey the wondrous cross after 
which prayer was offered by Milton Bright. 

As Philip came forward at the conclusion of the prayer 
— his face pale, his features tense — Katharine sent him one 
look of sympathy and comprehension that cheered and 
strengthened him for the ordeal before him. As he spoke, 
his voice was held to a quiet, even tone only by the force 
of his strong will, but his utterance was so distinct that 
every syllable was audible throughout the room. The cus- 
tomary Sunday morning serenity of the congregation was 
dispelled by his opening words: “If my future ministry 
among you, my beloved people, is to be as effectual for 
good as it should be, I must no longer shrink from publicly 
acknowledging to you that there has been much in my 
former teachings which I now see is contrary to divine 


THE MAGNETISM OF THE CROSS 


287 


truth. Guided only by the imperfect light of human wis- 
dom, I have hitherto oftentimes dealt with the delusive 
vagaries of negative truths and the dry husks of ethical 
philosophy, when I should have been proclaiming unto you 
the unsearchable riches of Christ’s gospel.” 

He paused a moment and passed his hand across his 
forehead as if to wipe away the pain that some mental 
vision had stamped there; and then in a voice which had 
regained its clear volume he proceeded: “Through great 
humiliation and bitterness of spirit I have learned the 
powerlessness of ethical philosophy and the critical nega- 
tions of so-called ‘modern thought’ and ‘new theology ;’ and 
I stand here before you this morning to say that the only 
message that can bring relief to a burdened conscience aijd 
hope to a despairing soul is this, the throbbing message of 
the cross, ‘Christ died that we might live.’ Brethren and 
sisters, I have done forever with the jots and tittles of 
Biblical criticism and the vain imaginings of human scholar- 
ship; and henceforward, with God’s help, I shall preach 
only the enduring principles of the all-sufficient gospel : 
'God, the Father ; Jesus Christ, his Son, our atoning Sacri- 
fice; regeneration and new life by the Holy Spirit; and the 
Bible in its entirety as our only efficient and our all-sufficient 
rule of faith and practice .’ I beseech your prayers that 
henceforth I may ‘continue in the faith, grounded and stead- 
fast, not to be moved away from the hope of the gospel.’ ” 

A shiver of sympathetic comprehension thrilled through 
the audience as the young man made this noble acknowl- 
edgment of past error and future purpose. The momentary 
silence that followed his closing words was broken by Peter 
Henson, who, standing in his accustomed place, poured 
forth a prayer of thanksgiving and a petition for future 
guidance for both preacher and people. Then the hymn, 
itself a prayer, “Jesus, keep me near the cross,” was sung 


288 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


by the entire congregation as few in that audience had 
ever sung it before — with full understanding and heartfelt 
power. 

As the last thrilling tones of the blessed old hymn died 
away, the minister again arose, and, with a face aglow with 
the light of his new-found faith, pronounced his text: “ ‘ Ye 
were redeemed not with corruptible things, with silver or 
gold, from your vain manner of life, handed down from 
your fathers ; but with precious blood as of a lamb without 
blemish and without spot, even the blood of Christ .’ ”* 
“ ‘IVho his own self bare our sins in his body upon the 
tree, that we having died unto sins might live unto right- 
eousness; by zvhose stripes ye were healed.’ ” * * 

He paused a moment that the words of his text might 
have their full significance, and then in a tone which gath- 
ered force and volume as he proceeded, he said : “As teacher 
and leader, prophet and lawgiver, healer and comforter, 
worker of miracles and exemplifier of holiness, no language 
is adequate to express the ‘Man of Galilee’ save that which 
has been called the classic of Christianity, ‘Thou art the 
Christ, the Son of the living God.’ 

“The death of our Saviour,” he continued, “would have 
been meaningless, had h been preceded by any other kind 
of life than the one he lived, which illustrated his Sonship 
with God, as our representative, and was an exemplification 
of purity, truth and love ; but although the guiding power 
to fallen humanity of that perfect life can not be over- 
estimated, it must ever be borne in mind that the authority 
of his precepts, the uplifting influence of his character, and 
the winning power of his matchless personality find their 
completest expression in the cross.” 

He next spoke of the tendency of some modern teachers 
to place the emphasis upon the life rather than upon the 

* I Pet. I: 18, 19. ** 1 Tet. r: 24. 


THE MAGNETISM OF THE CROSS 


289 


death of our Saviour. He declared this mode of teaching 
misleading, illogical and perversive of truth: misleading, 
because without Christ’s sacrifice of himself as our atone- 
ment, the sinless life he lived, instead of mitigating or 
removing man’s guilt, accentuated its vileness, gave sharper 
pangs to the tortures of man’s despairing helplessness, and 
the more forcible justification of God’s condemnation; illog- 
ical and perversive of truth, because it destroyed the unity, 
the coherence, and even the meaning of the gospel writings, 
since nowhere in those writings were the forgiveness of 
sins and eternal salvation attributed to the personality, the 
character or the earthly ministry of Jesus, but were always 
placed in connection with his death, as giving the only 
ground for man’s reconciliation with God. 

By abundant texts he proved that this cardinal truth, the 
supreme importance of the death of our Saviour, was the 
presupposition upon which the apostles reasoned, pleaded 
and warned; and also that the “Great Teacher” himself 
ever placed the chief stress on his sacrificial death as the all- 
important fact in his earthly mission. “For this cause,” He 
said in speaking to his disciples of his approaching death, 
“came I unto this hour” (John 12: 23-27). 

Philip’s next thought was that this misleading tendency 
to minimize the importance of Christ’s death was due to a 
misconception of the character of sin. “Man’s need,” he 
said, “and God’s remedy are commensurable terms; and it 
is only when the searchlight of the Holy Spirit is turned 
upon the recesses of the human heart that one realizes the 
loathsomeness of the sin lurking there, and one’s utter 
powerlessness. So that the beauty of the Creator’s redemp- 
tive love, in all its height, depth, breadth, can be truly real- 
ized only when seen against the black background of guilt, 
death and eternal punishment.” 

In this connection reference was made to the three 


290 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


theories of sin most prevalent among the advocates of the 
various latter-day religious cults, and which diverge most 
widely from orthodoxy; namely, (i) Eddyism, that denies 
the existence of evil, guilt, sickness and death. (2) The 
evolutionary view, which, being based on the false premises 
that good and evil are simply parts of one great whole, and 
that “whatever is, is right,” defines sin as merely “a persist- 
ence in man of his animal instincts or a remnant of the 
brute stage of his development ; and, therefore, but a neces- 
sary, an unavoidable and a logical step in his upward prog- 
ress.”* (3) The heredity theory (falsely so called), whose 
chief tenet is that individual sin being but a result of past 
experiences of the human race, one’s evil proclivities and 
impulses having been inherited, are for that reason largely 
beyond one’s control; and that, therefore, the individual is 
not so much to be blamed, after all, for the indulgence of 
or the yielding to said evil proclivities. 

Such theories, Philip asserted, tend to invalidate the true 
nature of sin, and to present the subject in a way radically 
opposed to the Scriptures, which show sin to be an unnatu- 
ral thing, alien to the divine nature, and marring the har- 
mony of creation — a willful violation of the moral faculty 
implanted in each reasoning human being. 

Under the second head of his discourse he showed how 
the vicarious nature of the atonement is taught in the Scrip- 
tures: First, by Old Testament prophecy and by the type 
and symbol of Levitical ritual founded on the idea of a 
sacrifice foreshadowing the great sacrifice to come; second, 
in the New Testament by the direct words of Jesus and his 
apostles, and by the terms used by them,** and recurring 

* Prof. John Fiske. 

**“Our offering” (Eph. 5; 2) ; “Our redemption” (Col. 1:14); 
“ Our reconciliation ” (Heb. 2: 17) ; “Our passover ” (1 Cor. 5: 7) ; “ Ran- 
som ” (Matt. 20:28; I Tim. 2:6); “Sacrifice” (Heb. 7:27; 9: 26). 


THE MAGNETISM OF THE CROSS 


291 


again and again in a host of passages — all accentuating the 
one idea that Christ’s death was a substitutionary atonement 
for human guilt; third, by Christ’s indirect teachings in 
which he declared himself the Messiah of prophecy, and 
applied to himself those prophecies of the Old Testament 
writers which showed the Messiah as coming as the “suffer- 
ing one,” the “slain one;” fourth, by that greatest of object- 
lessons, the “Lord’s Supper,” in the institution of which 
Supper he uses the significant words, “This is my body 
broken for you ;” “This is my blood shed for you.” 

“No loose system of Scriptural exegesis,” Philip Bryce 
declared, “no quibbling subterfuge of those who are so 
eager in their tithing of the anise and cummin of negative 
Biblical criticism as to pass over or to misinterpret the 
weightier matters of the gospel, can invalidate the force or 
destroy the significance of this cardinal truth of Christian- 
ity, the vicarious nature of the atonement, which is so 
integral a part of the gospel record that without it the Bible, 
instead of being an harmonious whole, is an incoherent and 
even meaningless book without divine origin — a mere trav- 
esty of truth, furnishing no consistent representation of 
God in his relation to the human family, no clear or ade- 
quate rule of life, and no plan upon which the soul can rely 
for refuge and salvation. Therefore, it is not the accept- 
ance of Jesus as only the divine teacher or as the embodi- 
ment of wisdom, truth and love, but the acceptance of him 
as the Christ crucified for our sins, that can save us; for 
the meaning of all Old Testament symbol and prophecy, 
and the power of all gospel truth, are summed up in the 
one all-comprehensive utterance of our Saviour: T, if I be 
lifted up, will draw all men unto me.’ ” 

Until now the speaker’s manner had been quietly for- 
cible without gesture or excitement; but when he reached 
the peroration his powers kindled to a fire of eloquence 


292 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


unattempted in the preceding parts of his theme. “It is,” 
he proclaimed, “the magnetism of the cross that draws 
mankind. Without this atoning cross there is no theology 
which can awaken saving faith or true repentance, or that 
offers eternal hope to perishing humanity. The point around 
which all divine revelation clusters, the center of the Chris- 
tian’s faith and hope, the dynamic of all Christian effort, is 
the cross of Christ — that cross which in its representation 
of sacrificial love reaches up to the very heart of the Father, 
and down to the deepest needs of his human children.” 

While the congregation were singing the beautiful 
hymn, “Saviour, thy dying love,” John Henson came, for- 
ward in response to the invitation which the minister, at 
the conclusion of the discourse, had extended to all who 
felt their need of Christ. 

When the hymn was concluded, Philip, grasping John’s 
hand, feelingly propounded the one basic question of Chris- 
tianity; and in answer, instead ot merely giving a silent or 
a murmured assent, John repeated with deep earnestness 
the words of “the good confession” : “ 7 believe with all the 
heart that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of the living God ' ” 


UNCLE CHARLEY GETS HIS MONEY 293 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

UNCLE CHARLEY GETS HIS MONEY. 

Kate Marshall completed her school term the last week 
of May. About a month later various Cincinnati and Ken- 
tucky newspapers contained an announcement something 
on this order : 

BRYCE— MARSHALL. 

On Wednesday morning, June 29 , at the residence of the bride’s 
uncle, B. D. Marshall, of Covington, Kentucky, Philip Sidney 
Bryce, formerly of Adelaide, Australia, and now the minister of 
the Christian Church at Ginseng, Kentucky, was united in mar- 
riage to Miss Katharine Logan Marshall, of Covington. 

Philip and his bride returned to Ginseng Wednesday 
afternoon, and -on Thursday evening there was held at 
Elmarch, in their honor, an informal reception which was 
attended by a large concourse of friends who came to offer 
their good wishes to the newly wedded pair. 

“I’m ‘the last rose of summer, left blooming alone; all 
my lovely companions now married and gone/ ” was John 
Henson’s lugubrious salutation to the bride and groom, that 
evening. 

“Our friend has a novel way of tendering congratula- 
tions to a newly made Benedict and his bride, has he not?” 
laughingly observed Mr. Bryce to Katharine. 

“Mr. Henson is always delightfully original — even in 
his mode of offering congratulations,” answered the bride, 
smiling up at John. 

“Neither my vocabulary nor my philosophy, my dear 
madam, contain at this moment anything adaptable to con- 
gratulatory phrases ; for life hath nothing more to offer me 
save mockeries of the happy past,” said John, with a fine 
pretense of melancholy. 


£94 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


“You’ll have to get married yourself, friend John,” said 
the bridegroom, blithely. 

“Sir, by suggesting such a course you but add insult to 
the injury you have recently inflicted upon me,” answered 
young Henson, with a reproachful shake of the head, and 
an expression of well-counterfeited sadness. 

Tom Carey had run down from Lexington to attend the 
reception, and he, with Ruth Vanarsdale, was standing near 
Philip and Kate. John’s next remark was addressed to both 
Philip and Tom, “Are there no pretty girls in your native 
land, young gentlemen ?” 

“Pretty girls are as plentiful in South Australia as blos- 
soms on a microphylla rosebush,” answered Philip with 
patriotic fervor. 

“As ‘thick as autumnal leaves that strew the brooks of 
Vallombrosa,’ ” was Carey’s corroborative testimony. 

“Then, why is this, thus?” inquired young Henson, dra- 
matically. The “this,” as indicated by a sweeping gesture 
of his right arm, included not only bridegroom and bride, 
but likewise the unmarried couple beside them. 

Philip laughed heartily, Katharine smiled, but Carey 
and Ruth looked self-conscious and embarrassed at John’s 
audacious speech. 

No one making any reply to his query, Mr. Henson con- 
tinued: “What this ‘land of the free and home of the brave’ 
needs isn’t a more stringent immigration law, but a stricter 
emigration enactment prohibiting foreign youths who come 
to this country, ostensibly for the enlargement of their 
minds, from carrying off with them, when they return to 
their native wilds, the brightest and best of America’s fair 
daughters. Don’t you agree with me, Ruth?” he menda- 
ciously inquired, turning to his cousin. 

Miss Vanarsdale colored rosily, but commanded both 
voice and countenance very creditably as she nonchalantly 


UNCLE CHARLEY GETS H/S MONEY 295 


replied: “I concern myself little with either the immigration 
or the emigration laws of my country. I leave such ques- 
tions to the brilliant legal powers of such men as my cousin, 
the honorable John Henson.” 

The Saturday after Mr. and Mrs. Bryce were estab- 
lished at Elmarch, they drove over to spend the day with 
the Brights. Near the bridge, on their way to Willow 
Brook Farm, they were waylaid by Uncle Charley, who 
came up to the buggy, bowing graciously, and saying as 
he shook hands with the young couple : “I wantstah be de 
fust uv my fam’ly succle to cungratulate Brothah an’ Sistah 
Bryce on de auspices uv dis happy uccasion. I wuz shorely 
tickled when I hearn you two wuz gwinetah wuck togethah 
in double harnish. You suttinly has got a splendid wife, 
Brothah Bryce. Ef she hain’t pussessed uv much uv dis 
world’s mammons, she’s got healf an’ strengf an’ purty 
looks an’ purty ways, an’ ev’rything else whut goes to make 
a good mate. She’s one uv my fav’rites, an’ I alius said 
she wuz cut out fuh a preachah’s wife.” 

“I’m by way of being of that opinion myself, Uncle 
Charles,” interpolated Philip, with a smiling glance at Kate. 

The negro now turned to the bride, and said : “An’ you, 
Sistah Bryce, you’s done kotch a good husban’ whut will 
treat you well, an’ whut you kin alius be proud on.” 

Kate thanked him prettily, and he went on: “I predict- 
ered dis match, Brothah Bryce, evah sence wintah befoh 
las’, when you wuz cornin’ to our house so much. I reckon, 
too, I hed some hand in makin’ de match; kaze I wuz thah 
ev’ry time to hitch yo’ nag, an’ I alius did my level best to 
keep dem bawdacious childuns frum runnin’ in on you an’ 
Miss Kate when you wuz a-doin’ yo’ courtin’. Den, when 
you quits cornin’ to our house, fuh a long spaill, las’ fall 
an’ wintah, Cassie she ’lowed you an’ Miss Kate done hed 
a rumpus ; but I knowed bettah. I tole Cassie you wuz jes’ 


29G 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


keepin’ away awhile, to frow dust in folkses’ eyes, so’s to 
mek ’em think you an’ Miss Kate warn’t thinkin’ uv each 
othah. But you didn’t frow no dust in my eyes, suh ; an’ 
shore nuff, it’s turned out jes’ ez I perdictahed it would. 
So now, Charles Withers wishes you bof ev’ry joy an’ 
prosper’ty whut kin come to us pore morsels in dis vale uv 
troubles.” 

“Thank you, Uncle Charley,” both bridegroom and bride 
heartily exclaimed. Then Philip chirruped to his horse to 
go on ; but the old darkey laid a detaining hand on the 
buggy top, and, planting his foot on the wheel, said: 
“Brothah Bryce, hain’t you furgittin’ somethin’?” 

Philip looked an inquiry, and the negro proceeded : 
“Whah is datah piece uv money you promised me las’ 
summah full totin’ dem notes an’ things ’tween you ’n’ Miss 
Kate? I reckon you’s been so busy doin’ yo’ courtin’ that 
you done furgot about it ; so now, ez you an’ yo’ sweetheart 
hez got mattahs all ’ranged satusfact’rily, I ventures to 
remind you. I needs the money pow’ful bad. Cassie she’s 
a-naggin’ an’ a-pesterin’ me fuh something to buy a dress 
fuh Iv’ry to wear to de Sunday-school picnic uv de colored 
chu’ch, nex’ Sat’day, an’ I hain’t nary a cent to give her.” 

The young man suppressed* a smile, and tried to speak 
in a businesslike tone : “But, Uncle Charles, you never gave 
Miss Kate that note I left with you, for her.” 

“Whut diffruns, ef I didn’t? My will wuz good to 
delivah it, suh. B’sides, I toted the passels all right, I 
reckon ; so thatah note wuzn’t uv much ’count, noways.” 

“I see the force of your reasoning, Uncle Charley, and 
I apologize for being such a poor paymaster. How much 
did I promise to give you?” 

“Fifty cents it wuz, suh; but you’s kep’ me outen my 
money fuh more’n a year, now, an’ de intrust hez been 
a-runnin’ on an’ mountin’ up considahble.” 


UNCLE CHARLEY GETS HIS MONEY 297 

“Will this be sufficient to settle my debt in full?” asked 
the bridegroom, holding out a bright, new silver dollar. 

The old darkey’s eyes glistened, and, making a low bow 
as he pocketed the coin, he said gratefully : “That’s suttinly 
pow’ful good intrust on my money. Thank you, thank you, 
Brothah Bryce. I’ll remembah you an’.Sistah Bryce in my 
prayers, fuh this,” and, so saying, he stepped back, and 
permitted the couple in the buggy to drive on. 

They had gone but a few rods farther when out from 
the alder-bushes on the roadside sprang Susan, Margaret 
and Buddy, and also Doc and Toby. A most clamorous 
greeting ensued, after which the three children were per- 
mitted to crowd into the buggy, and, with the dogs leaping 
and barking excitedly around them, they proceeded on their 
way. 

“Here they are ! They’ve come ! They’ve come !” 
shouted Alec and Marie Louise from the stile-block, as the 
buggy, approached. Ann Elizabeth, closely followed by her 
mother, ran bareheaded down the walk. 

“My dear child! My dear Kate!” murmured Mrs. 
Bright as she clasped the girl lovingly in her arms, and 
kissed her fondly. 

Philip looked on at this demonstration a little wistfully, 
and as Mrs. Bright released his wife he said: “If Mrs. 
Bryce is like a daughter to you, dear Mrs. Bright, can’t 
you find a son’s place for me in your motherly heart?” 

“That I ca!n, my boy,” she responded heartily. “You 
shall be just like my own son, from now on,” and, after a 
moment’s hesitation, she kissed him. 

“ 'Turn about is fair play,’ ” laughingly exclaimed Mil- 
ton Bright, who had come up just in time to witness Mrs. 
Bright’s affectionate greeting of Mr. Bryce; “and if you 
kiss my wife, Brother Philip, I reckon I can kiss yours,” 
and he did so. 


298 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


In the afternoon, when the family and their guests were 
assembled under a big elm-tree in the yard — Mrs. Bright in 
a large rocker, fanning herself ; Messrs. Bright and Bryce 
stretched upon the grass, the former smoking, the latter idly 
musing; Katharine, Cissy and Puggie swinging in the ham- 
mock ; and the other children and the dogs revolving about 
in circles more or less eccentric — Puggie, cuddling up to 
the bride, said plaintively: “Me an’ Buddy has to start to 
school in September, an’ now you’ve gone an’ got mar- 
ried ; so I weckon we’ll have to go to a teacher we don’t 
know. Whut made you go an’ marry my Miss Kitty dirl, 
Bwovvah Bwyce, an’ take her away frum us, to live ovah 
at Elmarch?” she inquired, turning reproachful eyes upon 
Philip. 

Whereupon, that astute young philosopher, Robert Gra- 
ham Bright, standing before the bridegroom, with his hands 
in his pockets, said: “Miss Tate likes teachin’ school, I 
weckon ; but her likes marryin’ wosser. Don’t her, Bwovvah 
Bwyce ?” 

“That she does, my little man !” answered Philip, 
heartily. 


CONCLUSION 


299 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 

CONCLUSION. 

Ere the curtain is rung down for the last time upon the 
various scenes and incidents which make up this narrative, 
one more brief glimpse is afforded of the dear people of 
the quaint and beautiful village of Ginseng. 

Ralph Moreland and his winsome, comely wife still 
make their home at Rose Lawn with Father and Mother 
Henson, who, according to Diana, spoil their two grand- 
sons, Henson Moreland, aged seven, and Philip Bryce, aged 
four, to an alarming extent. Dr. Moreland has a wide 
practice, and no man in Filson County is more beloved than 
is he. 

Although Peter Henson has passed his seventy-first 
milestone on life’s highway, he is hale and hearty, genial 
and jovial, and ever zealous for the welfare of his church 
and his community. 

The old signboard over the main entrance of Ginseng 
roller flouring-mill was taken down about a year ago. In 
its place is one bearing this inscription : 


HENSON & BRIGHT, 
Manufacturers of 

Roller Process Flour, Meal, Etc., 
and Dealers in Coal, 
Ginseng, Kentucky. 


The Bright whose name appears on this signboard is 


300 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


not Milton Bright, but his son Alexander, now a thorough- 
going, handsome young man of twenty-three. When he r 
after having been graduated with honors from Transyl- 
vania University, decided to enter the milling business, some 
surprise was manifested that he should choose a business 
career instead of one of the learned professions. His par- 
ents, however, think he has chosen wisely; and Milton 
Bright is wont to declare that the ranks of commerce, trade, 
agriculture and manufacturing afford as much scope for the 
talents of a college-bred man as do the so-called learned 
professions. 

Ginseng’s new milling firm maintains its well-deserved 
reputation for enterprise, square dealing, and good flour ; 
and the business methods of the firm of Henson & Bright, 
like those of the former firm of Henson & Son, furnish 
ample refutation of the old saying, “Every honest miller 
has a golden thumb.” 

The bond of friendship that has ever existed between 
the Rose Lawn and the Willow Brook households is now 
stronger than ever, not only on account of the business con- 
nection between Mr. Henson and Alec Bright, but also on 
account of the marriage, three years ago, of Peter Henson’s 
only son to Milton Bright’s eldest daughter, Ann Elizabeth, 
better known as Cissy Bright. “Duneden,” the residence of 
Mr. and Mrs. John Henson, in the suburbs of Durritt, is a 
beautiful, well-ordered, hospitable home. John Henson is 
practicing law in Durritt. He is rapidly winning recogni- 
tion among his compeers, as one of the most incorruptible 
as well as one of the ablest young lawyers of the Kentucky 
bar. 

Nancy Bright’s easy-going system of domestic training, 
combined with the more stirring policy of her husband and 
the Christian example of both, has proved successful in the 
rearing of their children. At present none of the children 


CONCLUSION 


301 


are at home, except Alexander and Buddy, or, as he insists 
on being called, Robert Graham Bright, a sturdy, merry lad 
of fourteen. Mary Louise (Polly) and Susan have returned 
to Lexington for their fourth and last term at Hamilton 
College, and this year Margaret accompanied them, and 
entered the Sophomore class of the same college. 

In reference to this trio of girls, Aunt Cassie declaims 
as follows: “It’s a good thing Cissy married befoh her 
sistahs set out ; fuh Cissy she is as well favohed as most 
gals, but she can’t hold a candle to Polly nur Susie, when 
it comes to good looks. An’, as for Puggie (I nevvah kin 
re-collec’ to call dat chile Mar’git — bless her sweet face!), 
she is gwinetah take de rag offen de bush fuh beauty. 
When dem three gals gits back frum dat finishin’-off school 
at Lexin’ton, they’ll be de belles uv Filson County; an’, 
hitched along disheah front fence ev’ry Sunday evenin’, dah 
will be a string uv fine hosses an’ rubber-tared buggies 
belongin’ to de beaux whut comes courtin’ our three hand- 
some young ladies.” 

Aunt Cassie complains now and then of a “tech uv 
rheumatiz,” but she is still her Miss Nancy’s trusty hand- 
maiden, and is noted throughout the countryside for her 
culinary skill. Uncle Charles still suffers from “spaills in 
de haid,” when the moon is full, as he claims, or when 
Uncle Charles is full, as is the generally accepted belief of 
the neighborhood. Nevertheless, he is still (in his own 
estimation) the mainstay of Willow Brook Farm; and it is 
his unchangeable conviction that to his own skillful man- 
agement and wise admonitions is due the fact that the 
Bright children have turned out so creditably. 

Elihu Clay retains his position of Ginseng postmaster. 
He has, as of yore, much to say concerning his illustrious 
kinsman, “The Great Pacificator,” and is fond of telling all 
newcomers to the village about his wife s descent from the 


302 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


ap-Morris who in 1009, A. D., married the daughter of 
Edmund Ironside, King of England. 

Soon after leaving school, Sadie Jean Fowler married 
the brother of one of her classmates. She lives on a fine 
blue-grass farm near Cynthiana. According to her mother, 
“Daut is doin’ fustrate, and holds her head as high as 
anybody.” 

When James Richard Fowler died some three years ago, 
Mrs. Fowler was inconsolable, and so violent in her grief 
that when the remains of her husband were consigned to 
mother earth, her friends with difficulty restrained her from 
precipitating herself into his grave. Six months after this 
heartrending scene, Mrs. Julia Fowler became Mrs. Samuel 
Keene, No. 3. She gave as her reason for this step: “Jim 
Dick is as dead as he’ll ever be; Sam Keene needs a wife; 
and now that Tommy” (her oldest son) “has got married 
and has brung his stuck-up, citified wife to the old home, 
there hain’t nothing left for me to do but to git married 
ag’in.” 

Miranda Hogg and Jane Burgess still keep “Ginseng 
Hotel — For Men Only.” They continue to do a thriving 
business, having, at present, according to Miss Hogg’s state- 
ment, “three steadies an’ a whole lot uv comers an’ goers.” 

During his last year at Ginseng, Philip Bryce labored 
to such good purpose that all misgivings as to his orthodoxy 
were banished from the minds of his brethren, and the 
church made wonderful growth in numbers and spirituality. 
Nor did he leave his post until an able man had been found 
to continue the work he had begun. The congregation at 
Ginseng is to-day widely known as a zealous, godly church, 
ever strengthening her influence and ever broadening her 
field of usefulness. 

Before Philip left the village he succeeded in making 
his own peace with Sisters Miranda and Jane, and also in 


CONCLUSION 


303 


effecting a reconciliation between them and Charity Bird. 
Consequently, that middle wall of partition, the high board 
fence, between hotel and adjoining cottage was removed, 
and those of Miss Bird’s windows that faced the hotel 
grounds were unshuttered for the first time in many years. 
This reconciliation between hotel and cottage was the more 
easy to bring about from the fact that the prime cause or 
causes of the quarrel— Jakey and Sir Thomas— had departed 
to the “Happy Hunting-ground” of dogs and cats. So now, 
peace and goodwill reign in dear old Ginseng, and each one 
of her six hundred citizens can heartily echo the prayer of 
Tiny Tim, “God bless us every one!” 

When, nine years ago, Philip and Katharine Bryce bade 
a long farewell to their loved friends in America, and 
embarked for their future home, Tom Carey and his bride, 
Ruth Vanarsdale, accompanied them, likewise to begin their 
life-work in Australia. 

Shortly after the homecoming of her brother, Helen 
Bryce became the wife of David Jones, who had returned 
to South Australia immediately after completing his course 
of study at Lexington, and who, upon the death of the 
faithful old minister, William Hammond, had accepted the 
call to the church in the village of Merdin. David is well 
beloved by his congregation, and he ably carries forward 
the work of his predecessor. 

Tom Carey is winning commendation and meeting with 
much success as state evangelist of the churches in South 
Australia. He and Ruth have their headquarters at Ade- 
laide. Consequently, they are frequently with David and 
Helen, who, with their children, make their home with Silas 
and Mary Bryce at Undulata. The loving regard which has 
existed between Tom and David since their boyhood is now 
equaled by the friendship between Ruth and Helen. 


304 


THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA 


Philip and Katharine are five hundred miles from Undu- 
lata— at Melbourne. They are happy in their love for each 
other, in their two promising little children, in their home, 
their work, and in the high esteem of all who know them. 
Although Philip’s duties are often arduous, he never wearies 
in well-doing; but, upheld by his unfaltering faith, and 
encouraged by the tactful wisdom and loving sympathy of 
his noble wife, he with indomitable enthusiasm presses for- 
ward. He is breaking down many of the high places of 
sin in Melbourne. He is ministering to the suffering and 
sorrowing about him ; and he is bringing many of his fel- 
low-men unto Him who is the Way, the Truth and the Life. 

In spite of the distance that intervenes between Mel- 
bourne and Undulata, and notwithstanding the many press- 
ing demands on his time and energies, Philip, with his wife 
and children, never fails to return to South Australia at 
Christmas-time for the week’s family reunion. At the close 
of one of these happy Christmas days in the beloved home 
of his childhood, Philip lies awake for hours, reviewing the 
seventeen years that have elapsed since that midsummer 
evening when he, a thoughtless boy of twenty, impulsively 
dedicated himself to the ministry; and his heart is filled 
with thankfulness, not only for many blessings of the pres- 
ent and the assured hope of his future, but also for the 
bitter but priceless experiences which humbled his pride of 
intellect, clarified his spiritual vision, taught him reverently 
to accept God’s revealed word, and led him to wholly con- 
secrate his life to Christ’s service. Then sleep shuts for 
him the gates of memory. The quiet and peace of the 
summer night enfold Undulata. The moon bathes the walls 
of the old stone mansion and its parklike yard in a mellow, 
golden splendor, and smiles a benediction on the sleeping 
household. 

Here in this beautiful southern land, far beyond our 


CONCLUSION 305 

feeble following, but watched over and guided by the God 
in whom they trust, we leave Philip and Katharine Bryce — 
confident, as we are, that whatever betide them in the future 
they with courageous hearts will ever work together for the 
accomplishment of that one great end of all Christian 
effort: “Thy kingdom come, Th) will be done on earth as 
it is in heaven/’ 


THE END. 








* COPY HP TO CAT O' V. 


NOV, 5 1 1909 














